


Holding Out for a Hero

by mariana_oconnor



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Cock Rings, Dom Tony Stark, First Time Blow Jobs, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humiliation kink, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Semi-Public Sex, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Sub Steve Rogers, This is Ults so they're both kind of dicks, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but they're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: The serum did a lot of things to Steve, but one thing he hates about it is how sensitive it made him, too sensitive. After it contributes to the end of his relationship with Jan, Tony offers to help him out.For square K4 on my Tony Stark Bingo Card: Kink: orgasm denial/edging





	Holding Out for a Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Терпи, герой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733317) by [Leshaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/pseuds/Leshaya)

> This got way out of control. It was supposed to be some mindless porn where Tony 'trains' Steve using orgasm delay. And it ended up being 36k of porn with some feelings thrown in. Mostly because Ults Steve is so repressed. He doesn't really get over his homophobia in this, although the ending's still pretty sappy. Fair warning that he uses homophobic slurs, though. Also, its from his POV and he's got some institutionalised misogyny he needs to work out, too.
> 
> I haven't read all of Ults, so this is... not canon compliant? Also it is unbetaed, because the bingo is due tomorrow and I procrastinated way too much.

It’s not just inappropriate, it’s disrespectful, Steve reminds himself as he washes his hands with quick, precise movements. He pays as much attention as possible to every motion, anything to keep his mind from wandering. A squirt of soap, rubbing his hands together to lather it up, then washing it off. The scent of soap is clean and clinical; that’s what he needs right now: something clean, something sensible and something that has nothing to do with what’s happening in his groin. The rebellion that his body has seen fit to enact.

His eyes flick down in the mirror, as though he’ll see something different from what he knows is there.

The pants of his uniform are tented outward in grotesque mockery of the whole thing.

This is an award ceremony for local, hardworking heroes. It’s a solemn occasion. He can’t ruin it with… with this.

His erection only seems to grow stronger at the idea, he can see it twitch, feel the spike of illicit pleasure run through him at the wrongness of it all.

Something about him is broken. Steve has always known that, known that other people don’t get aroused at the things he does, at the idea of being caught, at the thought of doing things that aren’t right.

He tries to keep his mind away from those thoughts, but he can’t control them completely. Sometimes he’ll see someone… some… man and the thoughts will flash into his head before he can stop them, quicker than lightning.

His stomach is roiling with acid, he wants to throw up at the idea, but at the same time - he’s still aroused. There is something to the wrongness of it all that makes it worse. The look on his face in the mirror, that slight reddening of his cheeks, the size of his pupils, the furtiveness of it all. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself he has to look away, shame staining his cheeks even darker, his erection throbbing against the fabric of his uniform pants. He is a perversion. He is broken.

And still the arousal won’t go away. The more he thinks of it, the worse it gets. All of those people out there not knowing that he’s in here like this, broken and helpless to his body’s whims, just because of a stray glance at… at… at a man’s rear end.

He doesn’t have time for this, but what else can he do but hide?

What would they think if they saw Captain America like this, all decked out in military dress uniform with a dick hard enough to… He cuts off the crude thought in his mind. Just because his body’s broken, doesn’t mean he has to descend to that level.

What would Stark say, if he knew? If he knew that it was the sight of him in a well-fitted tuxedo that sent Captain America running to…

He’d laugh.

The erection isn’t going to fade, he knows from experience. Every rub of fabric against it sends new sparks of pleasure spinning through him. He’s barely hanging on as it is, and he can’t go out there with a stain on the front of his pants. They would know. Or they would speculate. They speculate about everything these days, and he can already imagine Tony’s honey-thick voice mocking him for it. Not the exact words, Tony’s words always surprise him, but the tone of it. That pretend gentleness, like a velvet glove over razor sharp claws.

He shifts again and has to gasp at the sensation. He’s so sensitive now, to everything, he’s so close as well… but to go out there like that.

No, he has no other choice.

His eyes stray to the stalls. It wouldn’t take long, he could be efficient about it, clean himself up and get back to the ceremony.

He’s supposed to give a speech, stand up in front of everyone and tell them how Captain America respects and commends these men for their bravery and selflessness.

For a second his body flushes hot at the idea of standing up there like this, arousal evident, speaking out to the crowd, all of them knowing.

The breath he lets out is shuddering and he grits his teeth together in an attempt to contain it. This is not where he should be, this is not what he should be doing. This is-

The creak of the door swinging open cuts his self recriminations short. There is no time to hide away in one of the cubicles, no way to cover himself up. Instead, he crosses over to the hand dryer, sticks his hands underneath and angles his body so the evidence of his shame is not visible in the mirror, nor to the door.

“Steven, darling, I think they’re missing you,” the voice says. Steve’s shoulders stiffen in milliseconds at the familiar tone, the teasing, almost sing-song nature of it. Stark. Of course. Who else would it be to find him like this? God, it seems, wishes him to suffer tonight.

He grits his teeth, though, still hoping against hope that he can get through this with his dignity intact.

“Honey pie, you’re going to have to stop hiding in the mensroom, I do believe they’re expecting a speech, and you are so good at those. Something stirring about pro patria mori and all that tired old shit.” There it is, that gentle tone, more suited to a movie screen or a brothel than polite society, but here they are. It’s a voice that haunts Steve’s nightmares these days, but his body responds like a dog to its fucking master. Why can’t he control it? He is supposed to be in control.

Steve’s jaw is so tight his teeth are probably grinding each other away as he stands there, his hands going through the same repeated motions again and again under the dryer. His skin is already dry. The air is getting uncomfortably warm, but if he stops drying his hands, he’ll have to turn around and if he turns around then Tony will see. He’ll see and this will be just another joke to him, another notch on his list of moments that bring Steve down.

The heat is almost burning now, the rubbing of his hands against each other abrasive.

“I think they’re probably dry, dearest,” Stark says, his voice is closer now, and a little gentler. “Come on, Lady Macbeth…” he prompts. One hand comes up, and long elegant fingers press against the inside of Steve’s elbow.

He pulls back sharply, tugging his hands from under the dryer and as he does so a gust of hot air hits his groin, pulling a startled moan from his mouth. Half a moan, really, hurriedly cut off. But it’s enough and more than enough.

“Steve?” Tony asks, reaching out again. “Are you hurt? Is something wrong? Have you been-?”

“I’m fine,” Steve grinds out. “I’m fine, Stark. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Tony clucks his tongue, in the sudden quiet after the fading of the hand dryer it sounds obscenely loud.

“I might be a bit foolish, darling, but I’m not so much of a fool that I’d believe that. You practically ran out of the room, and now you’re hiding away in the restroom, refusing to even look at me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what the matter is.” He sing-songs the last sentence, like it’s a joke, a strange mockery of something a mother might say. 

“The only thing that’s the matter, Stark, is that you won’t leave me alone!” Steve grinds out of his mouth.

“Touchy, touchy… you’re really not selling the ‘everything’s sunshine and rainbows’ thing you’re going for,” Stark continues, because he never knows when to leave well enough alone, always has to poke, poke, poke at the cracks until something falls apart.

“For someone supposedly so intelligent you are very bad at taking a hint,” Steve tells him. “Leave me alone.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Not until you turn around and show me you’re not dying,” Stark says, the playful tone gone from his voice. “I know all about hiding in toilets and trying to drive people away so they won’t see what’s going on, and believe me, I was a lot better at it than you are.”

“Don’t test me, Stark.”

“I’m not scared of you, big guy. Now turn around and let me see. Believe me, I’ve seen worse in the mirror.”

Steve can believe that; he can believe Stark has done a thousand times worse. This… inappropriate reaction probably wouldn’t even register on Stark’s radar, but… the shame crawls up his throat, mingling with the anger that’s rushing through his veins, and he know that Stark won’t leave it, won’t leave him to deal with this in private, so he turns around, shoulders set, chin raised. Let Stark do his worst.

“Now was that so…” Stark trails off, his eyes caught on the obvious bulge of Steve’s uniform pants. “Oh, I see.” His face shifts a few times, moving through emotions so fast that Steve can’t register them as they pass. “Well believe me, from the look of it, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His smile is a slow, languid thing that makes Steve’s stomach tighten involuntarily. The way he’s looking at him, almost predatorial. “I’ll just leave you to it, shall I. Let you get… reacquainted. I can stall them while you take care of yourself, don’t you worry. How long will you need? Five minutes? Ten?”

The idea of it flashes across Steve’s mind. Tony, standing out there, moving people around like he does, with nothing more than the power of his smile and a few well chosen words, all the time knowing that in here Steve is.

The thought is too much, it sizzles through Steve’s body and to his mortification, he climaxes, from just a thought and the sound of Tony’s voice.

He makes a sound, a strangled sort of grunt and his eyes meet Tony’s watching them go wide and round as he realises what just happened. Steve can feel his cheeks redden with the shame of it all, cursing his pale skin and shutting his eyes, like that might make this whole sorry situation dissolve.

It doesn’t.

“Right-” Tony starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“Don’t,” he says firmly. “I’ll…” he looks down at his pants, at the very obvious wet patch across the front of them. “I’ll clean myself up.”

“Nonsense,” Stark says, pulling a phone from his pocket, “I’ll have a spare pair delivered. We’ll say someone spilled red wine down your front. Happens all the time. I have three spare outfits at every big event.” He keeps casting small glances out of the corner of his eye at Steve and, more specifically, Steve’s crotch, like he can’t quite help himself.

Steve tries to ignore it, the shame is clawing at the inside of his mind, and the fact that anyone has seen it, let alone Tony.

“Sneaking off to the bathroom for a little alone time doesn’t seem much like you, though, dear. What was it that set you off?” Stark has a wicked glint in his eye as he looks up from texting someone - someone who he’s asking to bring Steve clothes because he’s… soiled himself. The humiliation grows to smothering levels within his mind. He wonders what Stark is typing, what he’s saying about Captain America.

He breathes in through his nose, quick and hard, and huffs the breath back out through his mouth. He’s not going to rise to Stark’s bait. He is better than that, better than the drunken mess in front of him. This might not be his proudest moment, but he will not sink to that level.

“Was it that actress who was sniffing around you, her decolletage was rather daring.” Stark is smirking at him, at the thought of Steve having to slip out to take care of himself from just a glimpse of a lady’s chest.

The woman in question hadn’t had much fabric to the front of her dress at all, from what Steve recalls. It had been more like strategically placed suspenders. But he supposes that is what people wear now, in the twenty-first century. He is surrounded by it every day, on the television, on billboards. Sex, sex, sex, everything is about sex, and everything about sex is okay, or so it seems sometimes. Two women, two men, more than two people. Anything goes.

He takes another deep breath.

“Of course, it was her date who caught my eye, nice young man, and his pants did fit him rather deliciously, don’t you think?” Stark asks. He’s taunting now, mocking Steve for being old-fashioned, for having not adjusted to this strange new morality where things have come out of the dark into the light, and Steve’s not supposed to care that everything’s topsy-turvy and the things he learnt are no longer as set in stone as they always were.

Stone erodes, he supposes, over time, but it’s not supposed to be this fast. And Stark needs to just stop, just let Steve take a breath for a minute. He just wants to stop the world for a minute or two so he can try to get his balance. But the world keeps moving on, and Stark keeps pushing at him.

“Don’t imagine that I share your… proclivities,” Steve grinds out through his teeth, unable to stay silent. “Just because you’re… you’re…”

“Bisexual, darling. Don’t have a heart attack over the word, it’s really not that difficult to say, and if you’re having trouble, you can always shorten it to ‘bi’, one syllable, two letters, simple.” Like he’s talking to a child, like this is simply Steve’s fault for not getting it.

“Shut up!” Steve snaps. “I don’t care, Stark, about your perversions or your opinions or your… sexuality.” He spits the last word out like a curse.Stark’s mouth snaps shut, and his blue eyes lose their teasing sheen.

“Right, of course, Captain America can barely even bring himself to say the word, let alone accept the concept,” Stark sneers, as though Steve is the one who is attacking him, all of a sudden. Steve wishes, as he has a million times every day, not to be here. Just for a few minutes, to not exist and let the world carry on. Let them tumble down into their personal hells without Captain America to jeer at as they pass by. He is not supposed to be here. Stark makes that abundantly clear every time they speak. Steve is a relic, an antique, more suited to standing in a museum to be goggled at by passers-by than to live and walk around.

Sometimes he feels like he’s clinging to a single float in the middle of the ocean. This world with its bright colours and everything out in the open rather than behind closed doors - where it should be, where it’s proper and right to be - is swallowing him up, and it’s all he can take to weather the storm.

“My driver will have a new pair of pants here for you in five minutes,” Tony says. The teasing tone is gone completely, back to business. Steve relaxes minutely. He can deal with business; he can’t deal with Tony making fun of him every time he opens his mouth. “No need to thank me, Captain.”

Steve grimaces. He feels like a chastised child. When did he become the childish one.

“Thank you,” he says. It doesn’t sound sincere.

“You’re welcome. Anytime you need to get out of your pants, I’m always ready willing and able,” Stark says, unable to let it go without some innuendo, as always. “After all, you know just what my perversions are, mon Capitan.” Steve just glares at him and tunes out whatever comes next, some more insinuations about the other guests, more needling about how healthy it is to masturbate, like it’s just something you talk about.

Steve was in the army, he’s used to the banter and the less seemly side of things, but he doesn’t parade them around like Stark does, doesn’t force it onto other people.

“Although I have to tell you, she’s vicious under that pretty shell,” Stark says, about some socialite or other. “Probably not your type, but if you want me to put in a word…”

Steve’s hand flies out and then there is a dent in the wall, tiles shattered around it, out in a spider’s web pattern. He almost doesn’t feel it, it doesn’t seem real, like the pain blossoming across his knuckles isn’t really there, like he isn’t really there. Fascinated, he looks at the cracks as they radiate out. On the other side of the room, Stark looks at him and sighs.

“Don’t worry, I know who I have to sleep with to get that fixed,” Stark says.

“You’d…” Steve turns to look at him, disgust crawling up his throat. “You’d sell yourself?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course Stark would. He doesn’t know why anything surprises him about the man any more. Stark looks back at him, suddenly tired and sagging a bit.

“It was a joke, darling,” he says. “I’m not that cheap a whore.”

There is a knock on the door - Steve wonders why no one else has bothered them for all this time; it seems unlikely that no one else needed the facilities, although there must be other bathrooms in the place - and Stark opens it to reveal a professional looking man with a dry cleaning bag and a blank expression. Stark takes the bag and shuts the door in his face before handing the bag to Steve.

“Here you are, like it never happened,” he says. “You’d better be quick, your speech is five minutes late already. Don’t want a riot on our hands.”

Then he turns on his heel and walks out, leaving Steve, stained and clutching the dry cleaning bag, staring at the swinging door.

He cleans himself up, changes, and hands his old pants to Stark’s man waiting outside the door, trying not to think about what the man will think - being called by his boss to get Captain America’s pants. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think… he probably does think. Everyone in the future jumps to conclusions like that all the time. No one is considered to be above their baser instincts.

And Steve certainly isn’t, for all he tries. He is determined not to be dragged down into the muck. He won’t surrender to it, like everyone else seems to have done in this cold, bright future.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that Tony’s man is probably discreet, and walks as confidently as he can to the dais at the head of the room.

But he still feels tense, rigid all over, and the speech - he knows it’s stilted and awkward, can see it in the faces looking back at him. The words fall flat and the applause is polite, but unenthusiastic, except for Stark, who is three sheets to the wind, downing another bottle of wine as he applauds, mocking Steve with his drunken cheers.

Steve ignores him and stalks off the stage, hoping that this will be the last he hears of it.

*

It is not the last he hears of it. Of course it isn’t.

He has been trying to speak to Jan for a week. Steve knows she’s been avoiding him, couldn’t say why. He had thought things had been going well. He had thought that they were… good?

But nothing in this time is ever going to stop moving out from under his feet.

The Ultimates have a meeting and he manages to catch up with her before she hurries away. Asks her for a word, though she’s avoiding his gaze, looking everywhere but at his face.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, checking her up and down for bruises. If Hank’s hurt her again, he’ll-

“I’m fine,” she says. “Is that all you wanted to ask? I have to…”

“Are you avoiding me?” he asks. He knows she is, but he needs to see it. Her eyes dart to his for a minute, nervous, guilty, before sliding away again, looking towards the door a little desperately, like she wants someone to interrupt them, like he’s trapped her in here. “Jan?” He steps back slightly, aware all of a sudden of how small she is, next to him, how his bulk dwarfs her.

“Of course not,” she says, smiling a fake bright smile. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admits. “I thought-”

“You thought?” she asks, looking at him, then blinking and looking again. “Oh… you thought… you thought things were going well?… Between us?” She looks almost startled at the idea and Steve pulls back, straightens up.

“You… don’t think that?” he asks.

“Steve,” she says, and it’s a voice he’s heard before. Usually before the words ‘I’m sorry, but’. “Look, we’re not. I’m not ready for something serious. Not with… everything with Hank. I thought we were just having fun.”

“Fun,” he repeats. “I… we could see where it goes.” He watches her face twist a little, a cringe. It’s a tiny expression, barely there and smoothed over quicker than it came, but it hits Steve like a brick to the face.

“I’m not sure we’re really compatible,” Jan says, her eyes drift down to his groin for a second, then back up. “You know.” For a second cold terror floods him, and he wonders how she knows. Has she spoken to Stark, did he tell her about... but he stamps it down.

“But…” he says. She sighs and reaches out to touch his arm lightly.

“Did you really think it was working? Honestly?” she asks, her voice this awful shade of gentle that makes Steve want to scream. But he holds it in and she… keeps going. “We both know you’re not... “ she pauses. “I’m looking for fun, Steve. And honestly… you going off like a fire hydrant when I barely touch you? Not so much fun for me.” She pauses and then makes a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll work out your problems.”

“I-” Steve says, and she leans in to kiss his cheek. Jan smells of her floral perfume, a little too much for Steve’s overly sensitive nose, and he knows she leaves a lipstick mark on his face, he can feel it there, even through the humiliation that’s roaring in his head and sinking, leaden, in his stomach.

“It’s better if we’re just friends,” Jan says, fake brightness overcoming her tone. “But I hope you find someone who…” she trails off. “I hope you find someone.” Leaving it there, she hopes he can find someone, like it’s only a faint possibility, and maybe it is. Maybe Steve isn’t meant to get that anymore. He’d had Gail, that had been his chance at normal. There’s no going back now.

Then Jan turns and walks out of the room, her perfume wafting behind her still, and it’s as Steve’s watching her walk away, he sees Stark, standing by the doorway, looking at him.

The rage that consumes his brain swells up red inside his mind. Shame converts into anger in a heartbeat. Stark is looking at him, and Steve can still hear the clicking of Jan’s heels as she walks down the corridor. Not now. This is too much. He can’t take Stark right now.

Stark opens his mouth and shuts it again as Steve’s hands ball themselves into fists. Why is the man always there, always right there?

“Whatever you’ve got to say, just say it,” Steve snaps. “Let me hear it, Stark.”

He waits for the jokes, the amusement at Steve coming in his pants untouched, the comments about his stamina, the crude innuendoes, but none are forthcoming.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Stark says instead, and somehow the pity is worse. Steve could take the ribbing, he’d been an army man, he knows all about the blue jokes people will make. But sympathy, pity? He feels his muscles tense.

“I don’t need your pity,” he spits out across the room, with such vitriol that Stark takes a step backwards. “At least I’m not some… some faggot,” he says, and there is a spike of satisfaction at the blink-and-you-miss-it pain that flashes on Stark’s face, before he regains control of himself.

“I could never pity you, sweetheart,” Stark says, slow and gentle, like he’s talking to an animal, like Steve is some frightened horse. “You’re just not the sort of man one pities. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but if that’s…”

“I don’t need your advice, either,” Steve tells him. Stark’s face twists into a strange, cracked half smile.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you take advice from a ‘faggot’?” Stark asks. There’s something about the tone he uses that makes the word seem obscene and wrong, and not for the usual reasons. “I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment, hm? But I just wanted you to know that there are… things you can do. To help. You don’t need to take advice from me, but you have the glory of the internet at your disposal. Google it. You’re the strategic mastermind after all, I’m sure you’ll work it out.” He pauses, as though he’s considering something, and there is something harder, crueller, in his eyes when he continues. “And if you do want… a hand,” Stark’s mouth curls into a deprecating smile, a bit sad. “My door is always open to you. I’d be happy to help.”

Steve gapes at him. At the audacity the man has to even suggest that Steve might, that he could ever...

“The offer’s there,” Stark says, winking at him. “Take it or leave it,” and then he turns as well, and Steve can’t help the way his eyes drop down to the man’s rear. It’s because Stark had been talking about… because he’d brought it up. That’s why it’s in his mind. No other reason.

The thought buzzes in his brain, like a gnat has found its way into his ear. It won’t leave him alone. The way the words had dripped off Stark’s lips, the way his eyes had shifted over Steve’s body, like he’d been standing there naked.

By the time he closes the door to his apartment, he’s half hard again, every step making him harder as fabric rubs across his cock.

He’s not-

It’s not Stark that got him this way, it’s the entire situation. It’s not Stark, it’s the idea of looking online, watching pornography. There’s something dirty and seedy about that, something that shouldn’t be arousing, but is.

He sits down at the SHIELD issued laptop he has and unzips his pants.

But… it is a SHIELD issued laptop. They have all that technology, all those ways of seeing what he’s doing. If he Googles it as Tony suggested, they’ll know what he’s looking at. They’ll see it. He hasn’t worked out how to hide his searches yet, and even if he did, they probably have ways of recovering them. Nothing is private in this world. None of it.

He sits, staring at the blank screen, his penis sticking out of his trousers getting harder by the second at the idea of someone knowing.

That should not be arousing, Steve tells himself. It should be a horrifying thought, and there is a sense of panic and humiliation there, lurking in his head, but at the same time, there is a strange heat, a curling warmth in his abdomen that sparks at the idea. It’s wrong.

He’s a pervert, he thinks, swallowing uncomfortably. Stark, Stark has somehow…

But no, he’s always been like this, hasn’t he. Always pushed it down. When he was with Gail, back before, before everything, there had been a part of his mind when he kissed her, that had thought ‘what if’ and wondered about someone walking in on them.

It’s not Stark. It’s him. It’s always been him. He’s the problem.

He looks down at his cock, red and leaking, twitching at every thought and every sensation. When he’s like this, aroused, he can feel everything a thousand times more, like every nerve ending in his body is on high alert. He can feel the fabric of his shirt across his nipples. If he looks down he can see the points of them, hard and jutting out. He doesn’t touch them, doesn’t go near them. He should be finding his pleasure in the right places, not in these tainted thoughts.

He turns his mind to Jan, though she has made it clear he’s not welcome any more, it cannot hurt to just imagine her, can it? Her soft flesh, her fine boned hands, touching him. The shape of her lips, the way she smells, the way she-

His mind doesn’t summon up Jan at all, though, it summons up the sardonic twist of Stark’s mouth, the redness of his lips stained scarlet by another bottle of wine, the spark in his eyes as he teases Steve again.

It had been Stark’s suggestion that Steve Google it, it had been Stark who had offered to help, Stark who had looked him up and down. Is Stark thinking about it now? Is that what he wanted, just to imagine Steve doing this, looking at pornography online? Does that get him aroused? Is that what Stark is thinking about now?

His fingers brush against his dick accidentally, a barely there, feather-light touch that makes him jerk even as it makes him come, spurting out onto the desk and his pants and he looks down in horror at what had just happened.

He is a mess, physically and mentally. He knows it, Jan knows it, Stark knows it. Steve Rogers can’t be… Can’t be what Jan needs. Can’ be what he’s supposed to be. The serum didn’t fix him, it just hid all the broken parts under a shiny exterior. He’s as broken as he’s always been.

He cleans himself up quickly and sharply with military precision, strips out of his clothing and heads to bed, to stare up at the ceiling as sleep evades him completely.

*

It crosses over into the field, of course it does; he snaps, he shouts, but no one gets hurt. It doesn’t impede his job. He won’t let this conquer him. He might not be… a proper man, but he won’t be anything other than the proper Captain America.

Stark is still infuriating. He works well as a member of the Ultimates, he follows orders - mostly, he does what needs to be done, but off the field, he is a minefield. He looks across at Steve and Steve can feel the blush rising to his cheeks every time under that knowing gaze. He knows that Stark looks at him and wonders. Looks at him and knows.

And what’s worse, every time they separate, Steve ends up aroused at the idea of Stark knowing. It’s like something in his brain has shattered completely, where it used to only be cracked, and now all it takes is one look from Antonio Stark and Steve is standing to attention.

Whatever Stark said about there being ways of dealing with his problem, Steve has yet to come up with one. Sometimes he manages a few strokes with his hand, but gritting his teeth and thinking about the worst things he can only goes so far. Sometimes, when the battle has set his blood pumping and Stark has been particularly irritating in the debrief, everything goes a lot faster. He’s barely out of his pants before he’s already coming all over himself. On two separate occasions he can’t even make it to open the zip on his fly.

It is humiliating. He spends his time on edge, aware that the slightest thing can set him off, but he can’t do anything about it. He tries to avoid Stark, and he knows Stark gets the hint, because his smiles lose the hint of camaraderie about them, they become fake and flashy, like the smiles he gives to the cameras.

And Steve is going mad. He’s going mad because even if he doesn’t see Stark in person, the man’s in his mind, crowding everything else out of the way so he can stand centre stage. He can hear that drawling voice in his ears, as clear as if it is coming from right next to him, asking ‘would you like some help, darling?’ He wakes up in the mornings in sticky sheets, Stark’s voice still tickling his ear.

It occurs to him that someone might have done something to him. This might be a spell or some sort of drug or brainwashing technique. He has the SHIELD scientists run every test they can, until Nick Fury stalks in and shuts it down, citing the budget.

Apparently SHIELD doesn’t have the funds to deal with Captain America’s bout of hypochondria, and unless Steve is willing to tell them what exactly he’s worried about, he’s not getting another medical test done until there’s something actually wrong with him.

Steve breaks the handle off the door.

He’s exhausted all possibilities. He’s typed the words ‘premature orgasm’ into an incognito web browser a dozen times, then deleted them again and again, unable to press enter.

He is out of ideas. He is strung out and on edge, he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t put it out of his mind, and there’s only one more option left that he can see.

Steve never imagined that he’d ever end up on Antonio Stark’s doorstep, cap in hand, asking for help. He never wanted to be here, either. But it is the least of the evils, and maybe, if he can get Stark to help him fix this, like Stark fixes so many other things, Steve will be able to sleep through the night without being woken up by the ghost of Stark’s voice.

Stark’s butler answers the door, his face calm and unimpressed to see Captain America on the doorstep. Of course, this isn’t the first time Steve has been here, but this is the first time he has made a personal call, so to speak. And this is quite personal.

He shows Steve through to the drawing room, where Stark lounges insouciantly on a chaise longue, a drink in his hand, as always, and the man raises one elegant eyebrow as Steve is announced and escorted in.

“What an unexpected pleasure,” he says, sitting up straighter, his eyes looking straight into Steve’s with a glance so piercing that, if Steve were a more fanciful man, he might think Stark was looking into his soul. “What have we got here?”

“I’ll leave you to it, sir,” Stark’s butler says with a half bow, and then he steps out, closing the door behind him, and they’re alone. All alone. Together.

Steve swallows. He has faced bigger foes than this.

“What brings you to my door, Captain?” Stark asks, leaning back again. “From the look on your face - so severe, darling - it can’t be anything good. But then you do look at me like that a lot. Am I in trouble? Are you here to punish me?” Stark’s exaggerated wink makes Steve flinch.

“Is everything an innuendo with you?” Steve asks, “Must everything be- be tawdry?”

“It makes life a bit more fun, you must admit,” Stark says, standing up, the movement is one long slide of muscles and expensive fabric against skin. Stark is fully dressed, but he is anything but proper. His smile alone is filled with a sense of dark sensuality. Steve can’t look away from it. “You look tense. I have an excellent massage therapist, if you’d like. Practically better than an orgasm, a good massage, I have to say.” Steve stiffens at the comment. He can hear the unspoken commentary underneath it. The things that Stark isn’t saying about Steve and his… problem.

“No thank you,” Steve says. “I…”

“You…” Stark prompts, stepping a bit closer. “Look uncomfortable. What is it? Scared to be in the den of iniquity?”

“I’m not scared of you, Stark,” Steve says, turning to look him right in the eye.

“Of course you’re not, Captain America’s not scared of anything, everyone knows that,” Stark says. “Sit down, relax, you’re making my back ache in sympathy pains. Have a drink.”

Steve sits, his back still ramrod straight and Stark winces.

“Well, at least you’re sitting down, I suppose. Small mercies and all that.”

Stark sits opposite him, his legs crossed, and they stare at each other. Steve shouldn’t have come here. This entire idea was ridiculous. How could he ever have thought?

“Did you just come here to admire me, darling, or did you have something to say?” Stark asks, taking a sip from his glass. Steve keeps his eyes firmly on Stark’s own, not looking at the way his lips touch the glass. “If you’re here to tell me off, I’d prefer it if you got it over with, I have a busy schedule this evening.”

“I…” Steve stands up. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Quicker than Steve would have thought he could move, Stark is up and standing next to him, one hand touching his arm, lightly. It feels like he’s being branded. That one touch feels too hot, too immediate. Steve stares down at the fingers resting lightly on the fabric of his sleeve.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be so flippant,” Stark says. “What’s the matter?”

“I…” Steve says again. He’s not sure what the words are he needs to find. He knows he has a problem, but it seems so insurmountable, so impossible here. He stares at Stark’s hand and is aware that he’s getting hard again. Now. Of all times. Why won’t his body do what it’s supposed to?

He can’t help but drop his eyes that bit lower, and he knows when Stark follows his gaze because he hears the slight hum of understanding.

“No luck with the Internet searches, huh?” Stark asks. Steve flinches again and stares at the wall opposite him.

“No,” he replies, keeping it simple and terse, hoping that Stark can’t see the truth, that Steve couldn’t even bring himself to try. How pathetic is he that he can’t even type words into a box and click enter? How much of a coward is he to be scared of that?

“What have you tried?” Stark asks, his voice sounds professional - his scientist side coming out, Steve supposes. It reminds Steve a little of medical examinations, which is an entirely different set of problems, but there is something there that helps, a disassociation that makes it easier.

“I tried…” Steve breathes in. “Thinking of…”

“Ah,” Stark says. “Baseball statistics, or Fury doing a belly dance? Or did you just recite the Pledge of Allegiance over and over…”

Steve jerks his arm away.

“I didn’t come here so you could laugh at me,” he says, stepping towards the entrance, but Stark reaches out to touch his arm again. It’s only a light touch, it’s not even enough to tug Steve back, but it freezes him in place like he’s been turned to stone. For a few seconds every nerve in his body seems to be in that small, two inch area of skin that feels Stark’s touch.

“It’s okay,” Stark says, his voice low and gentle. “I can help,” Steve looks up at him, warring within himself between wanting that to be true and wanting to run away. Stark’s hand leaves his arm, travels up to cup his face, so very gently. It’s like Stark’s calming a scared animal, but Steve feels himself relax in spite of it. It’s too intimate a gesture for two men. It’s how one would touch a lover. Steve should feel revulsion, but instead it feels calming. “But I need you to say it out loud, what you want me to do.”

Steve glares at him. Is it not humiliation enough to have come here? To have to ask for this?

Stark looks sympathetic as he gazes back.

“I know, but consent is sexy, darling. And I need to have your consent before we do any of this.”

Right. That makes sense. Steve nods and opens his mouth.

“I need…” he squeezes out, past vocal chords that are so tense they are painful. “I need your help.”

“That’s good,” Stark says, his fingers are stroking Steve’s face slightly. It’s soothing, sort of nice. “What do you need me to help you with? This isn’t the kind of thing I want to be vague about. I need to know exactly what you want.”

“I need you to help… I can’t…” Steve breathes in through his nose, feels his chest expand, holds it, holds it. Keeps his eyes closed, so he can’t see Stark looking at him. Think about it like any other skill, he tells himself. If it were a better way of punching someone, or weapons training, he wouldn’t be scared to ask. This is nothing different. Just ask. “I need you to help me last longer… sexually,” he says.

“Alright,” Stark says, his fingers are still stroking at Steve’s temple, at the bits of hair that could be grown out to side-burns. “That’s good. You’re doing great.”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound patronising. It sounds like Stark is genuinely impressed by Steve managing to say one little sentence, and something else eases in his chest.

“Now I’m going to ask you some questions,” Stark says. “And you need to answer honestly, okay. If you don’t answer honestly, then we can’t do that. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Steve says. That’s simple enough. He can answer questions, although he knows he’s flushing at the thought of what type of questions they might be.

“First, how do you want me to be involved?” Stark asks. Steve’s eyes open involuntarily, and his mouth opens slightly too. He… he doesn’t know the answer to that one. He just… Stark is supposed to be the expert. He’s the one who knows what he’s doing. “Sorry, sorry, my fault. How can you make a decision without knowing the options? Do you want me to just give you advice? Do you want me to talk you through it? Do you want me to touch you?” Steve flinches at the last one. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Stark says softly, pulling his hand away, but Steve’s hand moves of its own volition to catch his wrist and hold it in place. “So this touching is okay?”

“Yes,” Steve says.

“Good to know.” Stark is smiling. Steve can hear it in the warm curl of his voice, even though his eyes are closed again. “But you don’t want me to touch you other than this?”

“I…” Steve pauses. There are images in his mind, flashing past him. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay not to be sure,” Stark says. “It’s okay not to have the answers, as long as you tell me.”

Steve feels something in his chest break loose at those words. How long has it been since someone else had the answers?

“We can sit back down again and I can talk you through what I know, how about that?” Stark says. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him, breathing more easily. The yes-no questions are the easiest.

“Good. Just sit over here, I’ll sit - do you want me to sit on the other-”

“Here,” Steve says. Stark feels like a lifeline, he doesn’t want to lose it. He has a horrible feeling that Stark is all that’s anchoring him to the world right now.

“I can do that, darling,” Stark says.

They sit down, Stark’s hand drops from Steve’s face, but he catches Steve’s hand in his, intertwines their fingers. His grasp is gentle, but firm, fingers still stroking patterns over the back of Steve’s hand.

“Now, you’re having a problem with endurance,” Stark says. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. It happens all the time, to all sorts of people for all sorts of different reasons.”

“I’m not supposed to…” Steve grinds his teeth together in frustration.

“I know, you’re Captain America,” Stark says, squeezing his hand gently. “But I think that… might be the source of the problem.” Steve looks up at him sharply. “You’re working at maximum efficiency, your eyesight is perfect, your hearing is perfect, your senses are all at the highest possible end of the human spectrum.” Steve nods. “It makes sense that would happen to your sense of touch, too.” There is another gentle swipe of Stark’s thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “And when you get aroused, just like everyone else, you get that much more sensitive.” Stark is looking at him like this is perfectly normal, like it’s to be expected.

“So you’re saying it can’t be fixed,” Steve says, pulling his hand away. His throat tightens at the idea. He’s stuck like this. He’s never going to be able to do what he should be able to do.

“No,” Stark says hurriedly. “Of course not. It’s just an extra hurdle you have to get over…” He looks on with sympathy again. “Nothing’s ever easy for you, is it?” He sighs almost to himself. “Darling, you know what to do - it’s the same thing you do with any other thing you need to perfect. You didn’t throw the shield perfectly first time, did you?”

“No,” Steve agrees. “You’re saying… I just need to practise?”

“It’s called edging,” Stark says. “And from the look on your face I’m guessing you haven’t done the research I recommended?” Steve flushes again and looks away. “That’s fine, that’s okay. I know it’s hard to think about these things.”

“You find it hard?” Steve asks, the undercurrent in his voice is very nearly aggressive.

“Well,” Stark agrees with a chuckle. “Not hard in that way. But I’m rather a special case. I have no shame. Just ask my brother. On second thoughts, don’t. Never speak to Gregory. No one should ever speak to Greg.” He makes a face then shakes his head as if ridding the thought from his mind. “What I’m saying is that you need to train your body. There are tools you can use. But it all comes down to the same thing in the end. You train your body to last longer. Will power, that’s what you need, and that’s something you’ve got in spades.”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” Steve asks. Stark looks at him.

“It’s not a quick fix. It takes time. You work yourself up - right to the edge, then you stop. You do something else until you’re no longer aroused, then you do it again. Over and over again.”

Steve thinks about it. It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s something he should have come up with on his own.

“Start small,” Stark says, “Just once or twice. Then build up a bit more.” He shrugs. “It should work.”

“You haven’t done it before?” Steve asks sharply.

“Edging? Oh yes,” Stark’s smile is lewd. “I’ve done it. Enjoyed it. Would definitely recommend. But I’ve always done orgasm denial for its own sake. I’ve never needed an excuse.”

“It’s something… something people do?” Steve asks, frowning. “Why?” Stark grins.

“Pleasure,” Stark tells him, as though anything in life is that straightforward. “It’s fun. Why have five minutes of fun if you can have half an hour? Why have half an hour if you can have a day? And by the end of it…” he looks like he wants to say more. “It’s very pleasurable,” he says with a shrug. “And when have I ever needed more of a reason than that?” It sounds too simple of an answer, like Stark’s holding something back, but Steve can hardly be angry about his own privacy and then angry at Stark for keeping some things private.

“You said… tools,” Steve said after a second. “What sort of tools do they even make for this?”

Stark eyes him curiously and seems to weigh his words.

“Cock rings. Cock cages. Special lubricants. Condoms, as well, can dull the sensation a little.” Steve tries and fails to stop the red from rising in his cheeks. Those things. He hasn’t… well, he’s heard of condoms, and lubrication, but… cages, for… for that?

“I don’t… uh… I think…” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Stark soothes again. “You don’t need to worry about them. You should be fine with just your hand and your iron will.”

“You’re not going to…?” Steve starts, then he remembers what Stark said at the beginning, when he’d asked whether Steve just wanted advice or if he wanted…

Stark blinks, like he’s surprised by the very suggestion, even though he’s the one who made it in the first place.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, slowly, carefully, as if the words are difficult to say.

Steve has an out, he can turn back now. He’s going to say no, he’s going to walk out that door and never turn back again. He’ll do this on his own. He can do this on his own.

“Yes,” he says. And his heart skips a beat.

He can see the bob of Stark’s adam’s apple as he swallows.

“I need you to be clear about this, sweetheart. Do you want to practise edging with me - physically?” Stark says, his voice is raspy, a little low, his pupils are blown wide.

All Steve has to say is no. He should say no, because this is too far. He came here to learn to be less broken, but he can feel himself cracking even further. He needs to say no.

“Yes.”

“Okay, darling. That’s good. You’re doing well,” Stark says, his hand reaching out, pausing, and then coming down on Steve’s thigh, a warm, startling weight, but anchoring again. “Are you alright.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says. It is not entirely a lie. This whole thing feels surreal, like a strange place halfway between dream and nightmare. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

“You’d say you were fine if both your legs were broken,” Stark mutters. “Look, I don’t know how much you’ve done before - like this, but there are some ground rules.” Steve nods. That makes sense: you need to know the limits of a situation before you go into it. “Good. So I’m going to give you some colours, okay, Green means go, everything’s good. Yellow means slow down, you’re not sure about something, and Red means stop, something’s wrong, or you don’t want to do something, or something hurts. If you say red at any time I will stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Steve nods.

“Can you repeat it back to me, darling?” Stark says. Steve looks over, because it wasn’t that difficult. Steve might not be a genius who built a flashy suit but he can remember three colours.

“Green means good, yellow means slow down, red means stop,” he says. “I’m not an idiot, Stark”

“I know, I know, but I need to be sure you know what we’re doing and the only way I can know you understand is if you tell me,” Stark says, his hand is stroking at Steve’s thigh. It’s simultaneously calming and distracting. “And if we’re going to be doing this, I think it might be best if you call me Tony… Stark’s a bit impersonal after all.”

Steve bites back a response that Stark - Tony - certainly never uses Steve’s name. It would only exacerbate things, he’s sure.

“Right, Tony… so how-” he wants to ask how they’re going to do this, but his mouth won’t let him. His throat runs dry, his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he’s left wordless.

“You don’t need to worry,” Tony tells him. “It looks like you’re already well on your way.” He looks down to Steve’s lap, where his erection is still pushing against the front of his pants. “I propose we do this scientifically.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, trying to ignore the way the lilt in Tony’s voice seems to echo in his pulse.

“It means that we require data, darling. More specifically, a control.” His blue eyes are darker than Steve’s ever seen them, it makes him swallow involuntarily. “Show me how you usually do this, so I can… take notes.”

Steve blinks and feels himself clench all over. It’s not like he didn’t know this was coming, but it seems there is a big difference between knowing something is coming and actually living through it. He looks at Tony, who looks back. He’s softer than usual, somehow. Steve has always thought of Tony as having sharp, broken glass edges, like expensive crystal that’s been dropped too far, but in this moment, it’s like someone has sanded the sharp points down a bit.

“Just do what you would do at home,” Tony tells him, his voice soft and rough, linking somehow, directly into Steve’s nervous system. If Steve wasn’t so torn about this whole thing, he probably would have already ejaculated, come in his pants again, but it seems like the awkward wrongness of the situation is good for something. He finds his hand going down to the zipper of his pants almost automatically. “That’s right, let’s get that out of there, it can’t be comfortable for you.”

Steve grits his teeth against the whimper, and at the sizzle of arousal in his veins at Tony’s words. It’s not even the content, it’s everything about them, the way Tony’s talking him through it. There’s a strange thrill through his abdomen at the idea of it.

He can’t help the way his cock practically jumps into his hand as he frees it, swollen and red and so wet at the tip already, drooling precome like a leaky faucet. He can feel his face flush at the idea of Tony seeing him like this, so eager, and all because of a conversation.

“Oh,” Tony says, sounded a little breathless, Steve looks at him, but Tony’s eyes are looking down, into Steve’s lap, and his mouth is parted slightly, eyes round. “Well that’s quite a thing to behold,” Tony says, soft and rough at the same time. “Isn’t that just a gorgeous sight? Look at you.”

Of course Tony would enjoy this - Steve knows he’s attracted to men. He’s made it clear on more than one occasion that he finds Steve attractive. But there’s something about the reality of it that Steve can’t help reacting to. His cock jumps again and he tugs his hand over it once, twice, screwing his eyes shut to shut out the image of Tony’s face, but it’s burnt into his retinas and he can see it on the backs of his eyelids as he comes and comes.

The shame sets in immediately, his softening dick still in his hand, streaks of white come splattered all over him like one of those modern art pieces he’s seen in the museums. He’d been hoping to last longer than that.

“Oh,” Tony says again, and Steve can hear the sound of him swallowing as Steve sits there, his cock growing cold where it sits, still out in the open. He can feel himself crumple in a bit, his chest pulling in, his face must be a brilliant firetruck red from how he can feel it burning, right to the tips of his ears.

Then cool fingers glance against his cheek.

“None of that, darling. No shame here. I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” Tony says. “That was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all. It was beautiful to watch.”

Steve scoffs, because there’s nothing beautiful about that.

“No, it was. I could live my entire life and not see something as beautiful as you trusting me with that ever again,” Tony says, his fingers are stroking lightly down the side of Steve’s face and Steve can feel his breath hitch in his chest, almost a sob. “You’re good, darling, you’re so good for showing me that. There’s nothing wrong with you,” Tony tells him. Then something’s being pushed into Steve’s hand - tissues, he notes, looking down, and he dutifully wipes himself off and tucks himself back into his pants.

“But if you really want, we can definitely do something to make you last longer,” Tony tells him.

“We can?” Steve asks, looking at him. Tony’s looking back, and there’s none of his usual barely contained merriment at the world, just an earnest look of consideration.

“Of course we can,” Tony says. “You’re Captain America, I’m Iron Man, between us there’s nothing we can’t do.”

Something untangles in Steve’s chest at the idea that maybe he’s not beyond fixing. There’s still the… the other thing, but if he can fix this first thing, maybe he can fix other things as well. Maybe one day he’ll get the happy ending he wanted.

“Okay,” Tony says. “You’re looking a little more relaxed now, but I think I can help with that, if you’ll let me.” Steve follows him with his gaze as Tony stands up and walks over to a small cabinet. “Are you still okay with me touching you, darling?”

Steve wants to say no, but he’s come this far. He’s covered in his own come and Tony Stark watched it happen. He has sunk too far already.

“Yes,” he says.

“Then how would you like a massage?” Tony says. “I can do it over the clothes if you want - just a shoulder rub to get that tension out of your neck.”

“You know how to give a massage?” Steve asks. Tony raises an eyebrow and smiles brightly.

“I was trained by some of the finest masseurs in the world,” he says. “One of my ex-proclivities was a professional athlete, still very firmly in the closet, so I won’t name names, but he did love a good massage, and I did enjoy giving it to him.”

“Nothing… sexual?” Steve says cautiously. It seems a strange line to draw at this moment, but he’s not sure he could manage anything like that right now.

“Pinky swear, honeybuns,” Tony says, holding up his little finger. “Entirely professional. No happy endings today.”

Steve frowns, but he can understand that well enough from context clues, so he doesn’t bother to ask for a more complete explanation.

“Well, not more than we’ve already had,” Tony says with a wink. “Take that jacket off and I’ll get to work.”

Steve is still doubting himself as he pulls off his jacket, but within seconds he is glad he did, as Tony’s fingers begin to work their way into the muscles of his shoulders, firm and sure, smoothing out the muscles, digging in just enough to give that good, healthy sort of pain that muscles have when they’ve been well-used.

The rhythm of the moment lulls him slowly, as the tension drains from him, and Steve can feel himself drift, just sitting there, feeling Tony work away at the knots in his neck and upper back with fingers that seemed almost magical, leaving trails of comfortable warmth wherever they touched.

His head drops a little, his body sags and Tony’s just murmuring encouragements behind him.

“There you are. That looks far more comfortable. You haven’t relaxed in months, have you? No wonder you’re wound so tight, all that stress and bother just building up. Just relax for me, now. That’s good. You’re doing so well, look at you.”

Steve feels the words wash over him, just as warm and comfortable as Tony’s fingers. It feels good to know that he’s managing to do something right, for once, even if it is just sitting here and letting Tony massage him.

It ends too soon, and Steve almost protests the sudden lack of contact as Tony pulls away, but he remembers himself in time. He goes to stand up, then realises that he’s hard again, looking down at his lap in dismay.

“What’s the matter, darling? You’re ruining all my hard work,” Tony says. Steve doesn’t answer, but Tony must notice the problem, because he chuckles slightly, sending humiliation rushing over Steve again.

“Guess I did a good job, then,” Tony says. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.” He steps around the front of the sofa again, and Steve can see that he’s aroused as well.

The sight shocks Steve, although it shouldn’t. He knows Tony is a queer, knows this is the sort of thing that he would be into. But still, there’s something about them both being aroused at the same time that makes this.

“What did I say about shame, dear?” Stark asks as Steve stands up hurriedly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”

“Getting off on this, Stark?” Steve asks, his voice vicious and angry, and Tony pulls back a little.

“And I’m not the only one,” Stark says. “But don’t worry, Captain. This doesn’t make you a faggot. Perfectly natural response to external stimulus. Your ironclad heterosexuality is still impenetrable, even if a faggot like me is getting hard at the sight of you.”

“You’re sick,” Steve says.

“You’re the one who came to me,” Stark snaps. And he’s right, of course he’s right. Steve never should have come here. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to take it. “What’s the matter? You’ve got to know that people find you attractive. You’ve got to know that there are boys and girls all over the country - all over the world - who have a poster of you on their walls and they look right at that chiseled jaw of yours as they touch themselves.”

“That’s depraved.”

“That’s life,” Stark says. “You can’t stop people from finding you attractive. You can’t police other people’s thoughts. And that scares you, doesn’t it. People are going to think whatever they want to think, and you can’t stop them. You don’t know which men you meet are shaking your hand and thinking about what you’d look like naked, at their feet. You don’t know how many strangers pass you on the street and imagine you bending them over the hood of the nearest car.”

“Shut up!” Steve says. “You don’t just… announce it to the world.”

“Yes, I do,” Tony replies. “Because the only way to control the narrative is to get there first. That’s the difference between you and me, darling. I’m proactive and you-”

Whatever Tony’s about to say, he doesn’t get to say it, because Steve’s pushing him back against the wall, using his greater strength to advantage, fencing him in.

“The funny thing is,” Tony says idly, like he’s talking about the weather. Steve’s breath is coming hard and fast, his chest is heaving with it, his whole body is thrumming with rage. “You don’t realise that I like this.” And Tony rolls his hips forwards, his erection rubbing up against Steve’s thigh, and Steve’s own hips jerk forwards of their own accord, returning the favour. “Oh no.” Tony moves his leg out of the way so Steve’s pushing up against nothing. “You’ve already come once today. That’s more than enough for now.”

The noise that comes out of Steve’s throat is wordless and shameless.

“You came here for training,” Tony says. “Sure you’ve got the strength. You could pin me up against the wall and rub off against me until you come in your pants - just like that time in the toilets when you came at the sound of my voice. Or you could be a good little soldier and stop now and learn your lesson.”

Steve stops. He tells himself it’s because he’s not like Tony. He’s not shameless or wanton or perverted like that. But he feels like that’s a lie. He feels like the reason he stops is just because Tony tells him to.

He pulls back, standing in the middle of the room.

“What colour are you?” Tony asks, suddenly. “Because I’m not going to lie, I’m sensing a yellow or a red over here.”

“I…” Steve’s mind flails for what he’s talking about, then he remembers the colours and Tony’s insistence on him repeating them. Green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop. He opens his mouth to say red. “I’m not going to play your games any more.”

“You came to me,” Tony reminds him. “You agreed. Consent is sexy. I’m not the bad guy here.”

“So I am?” Steve asks.

“Maybe there aren’t any bad guys,” Tony says with a shrug, pulling his composure around him again like a cloak. “I just want you to remember that I didn’t force you into anything. I didn’t coerce you. You consented. You didn’t withdraw consent...”

Steve can’t deny it.

“I’m leaving,” he says instead.

“Probably a good idea,” Tony agrees. “You wouldn’t want to hang around here with my perversions any longer.”

Steve draws another deep breath and manages to stop himself from breaking any of Tony’s furniture. Instead he just heads for the door, marching out before Tony’s butler can materialise to provide assistance.

*

At home that night, he lies awake again, staring at the ceiling, his cock hard and throbbing between his legs again, insistent and impossible to ignore.

He glares down at it, and wraps his hand around it just that little too tight, determined that if he is to do this, he will not enjoy it.

He pulls once, twice, trying to keep his mind firmly blank. This is nothing but a necessary bodily function. It has no meaning beyond that.

But in his head, Stark’s voice still haunts him, soft and cunning, telling him to slow down, to enjoy himself.

So he does, his hand loosens a little bit, and he touches himself with slow, almost gentle caresses, almost sobbing with shame as he does so, his eyes clenched tightly. He can see Tony, standing over him, hear his voice. He tries to think of Gail, instead, as she was that one night they spent together, but her face is gone from his mind. It’s just Tony, Tony, Tony, and he’s so close to the edge, when he hears Tony’s voice clear and firm in his mind.

Stop.

And he does. Steve lets go of his erection like it’s burning, and lies there, breathing ragged and eyes flying open to stare at the pale expanse of the ceiling with the strange cracks in the paint. His body is vibrating with it, the force of holding back, he wants to give in, wrap his hand around himself just one more second, and let himself go.

But he doesn’t.

He breathes deeply and the need ebbs back a bit, the shame receding as a little bit of pride takes its place.

The erection ebbs as well, drooping and fading, and he falls asleep, ignoring the fact that he can still hear Tony’s voice in his mind.

Good boy.

*

If he had hoped his ill-advised visit to Tony would help, he was wrong. His preoccupation grows worse. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of wherever Stark is. He watches the suit, his eyes stray to him whenever they are in the same room. When Tony appears on the television - which is often, given his many interviews both for his own company and The Ultimates - Steve will be watching him, often forgetting about whatever conversation he had been in the middle of before Tony appeared.

The eidetic memory that the serum gave him means that he can still recite back everything the other people were saying, but it doesn’t mean he’s paying attention. It’s like there is some sort of thread connecting him to Tony, and Tony keeps tugging on it, yanking Steve around to face him like a compass pointing due north.

He thinks of him when he’s alone, too. After that first night, the sound of Tony’s voice echoing in his ears is a familiar one whenever he masturbates. Tony urges him on and sometimes Tony tells him when to stop. Steve knows it’s only in his head, but somehow Tony’s voice is easier to obey than his own.

But it fades a little, it loses its clarity, and he needs more. He can’t tell if the voice is all Tony anymore, or if he’s changed it, and he can’t make it work. He can’t sleep. He can’t keep himself from humping at the bed sheets like an animal, listening desperately for a voice that isn’t coming, that never comes.

Tony, on the other hand, doesn’t look at him anymore. He’s polite in public, but does not engage with Steve in any way. He has polite conversations with Jan and Betty, speaks to Fury with the modicum of civility that seems to typify their relationship, but treats Steve as one would do a stranger. 

Steve tries to keep things like normal, starts conversations and watches them shrivel and die. The others notice, although Tony is very good at keeping things professional. It’s more Steve that they notice. His hands balling into fists as he tries to will Tony to at least look at him. The man has seen more of Steve than anyone else in this time, but he refuses to look at him again.

He wants to shake him, yell at him, even though Steve knows he’s only really angry at himself. Tony was right, Steve had agreed to it all. It wasn’t Tony’s perversions that had caused that evening to happen, it was Steve’s.

“I don’t know what Tony did,” Clint says to him, cornering him after an Ultimates meeting, “but you two need to sort it the fuck out. This kind of shit is how teams fall apart, and we’ve got enough enemies outside the team. We don’t need any more problems on the inside.”

“I’ll sort it,” Steve says, grinding out the words. Clint does not look convinced. “You’re right. It’s not professional and it’s not good leadership. I’ll sort it.”

“Right,” Clint agrees. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? I heard about you and Jan being over. That’s got to be tough, but it’s probably for the best. That whole situation is something you don’t need right now.”

“Thank you for your concern, Hawkeye,” Steve tells him. “But I’m fine.”

“Right,” Clint agrees. “You’re fine. We’re all fine. Sticking to the party line, I guess.” He gives a little salute, that’s almost mocking, then saunters away, leaving Steve standing there.

He’s right, of course he’s right. Hawkeye sees all the things you don’t want him to see. Steve needs to fix this. He needs to talk to Stark.

*

“Excellent,” Stark says when Steve walks through his door. “A repressed seventy year old national treasure, just what I ordered!” He claps his hands together in a mockery of applause. “Come here to blame me for your own problems again?”

“No,” Steve says, reminding himself that arguing would not be a good idea. He came to fix things, not break them further. “We need to talk.”

“Of course we don’t,” Tony says. “Unless this is Ultimates business?”

“Not exactly, although it is having an effect on the team if you can’t bring yourself to look at me.”

“I was trying to protect you from my depraved gaze,” Tony says. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Damn it, Stark!”

“You have no idea how often I hear those words,” Tony says. “So you want me to look at you? Fine, I’m looking at you.”

He turns around and stares directly into Steve’s eyes and Steve’s voice is caught in his throat. Not like that, he wants to say. Not like you see right through me. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it. He feels exposed, like a raw nerve or a sparking cable, like Tony can see him. The words that he wants to say crowd inside his mind and he can’t come up with anything to say at all. They fail him, words crumble on his tongue to ash. He wants to ask for something he knows he can’t have, something he knows he shouldn’t want, but to ask would probably ruin them both. Stark would say no, of course he would say no.

“Or maybe you came here for something else,” Stark says, his voice low and dark as he steps forwards. “What’s the matter, Captain? Is there something else you need? I thought you weren’t playing my games any more.”

“Please.”

Steve doesn’t even recognise his own voice, strangled and shattered as it is, and if the word he speaks surprises him, it astonishes Tony.

“No,” Tony says, straightening up. “I’m not doing that with you again. We tried it, it failed. Your stalwart masculinity and good old-fashioned American bigotry proved too much for my laissez-faire. You made it very clear that you were not-”

“Please,” Steve says again. He is not a man given to begging, but it seems like he might not be above it. “I can’t…” he swallows. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t… you’re everywhere.” Stark’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes flicker around the room, looking for some sort of answer to a question Steve doesn’t know. Steve pulls himself together. Fortune favours the brave, after all, and he is supposed to be brave, isn’t he? Captain America isn’t a coward, so why can’t he ask for what he needs?

It’s wrong, a voice inside him says. But he needs it. He’s weak.

“I need your help,” he says, again.

He can see the moment that Tony surrenders. It’s visible in his eyes and the line of his hands, which flick towards Steve as though starting to reach for him.

“I consent,” Steve tells him.

“No,” Tony responds, immediately. “Consent isn’t just given once, it’s an ongoing thing. You have to use your colours. I know you mocked them last time, but if you’re feeling even a little bit not okay, I need to know.” He pauses. “This is about helping you, right? If it’s not helping, then we’re not doing it.”

“Green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop,” Steve repeats. Tony nods.

“I’m going to check in,” he says. “I’m going to keep checking in, and you have to be honest with me - you’re Captain America, you’re always honest. Too honest most of the time. Don’t let this be the one time you’re not.”

“I’ll be honest,” Steve says.

“Don’t just say ‘green’ automatically. Think about it and tell me if anything’s even a bit wrong.”

“I will,” Steve says. 

“Right,” Tony says. He still looks conflicted as he steps towards Steve. “Have you… Have you been practising?”

“I’ve tried,” Steve says, trying to think of this like a mission report. “It started out well, but there have been diminishing results.”

“Hmm,” Tony says thoughtfully, and he steps forwards again, once again starting to reach out for Steve then pulling his hand back, scared to initiate contact. “And why do you think that was?”

“I…” Steve straightens up. He can do this. He needs to do this to fix himself. It’s just like a mission report. One of the missions where he made a mistake and he knows it. If he can just detach himself from the words he’s saying, then it will all be simpler. He draws in a deep breath and tries to reach that level of separation. “I started out after our last… session, and I could stop. I heard you telling me to stop.” He flushes a little at the admission. “And I could stop.”

“You could stop when you imagined me telling you to?” Tony asks. There is a strange expression on his face that Steve can’t parse. “That’s…” he pauses and swallows. “That’s very good, darling. I’m proud of you.” Steve feels that little thrill of pleasure in his chest at the words. He’s done something right. The words come more easily after that.

“But then I… it was less clear. I couldn’t. I could remember, but it didn’t work properly. I don’t know why. It-”

“It’s okay,” Tony says, finally reaching out and actually touching Steve. A calming hand on his shoulder is soothing and heavy, weighing Steve down. “It’s okay to be frustrated, but that’s still progress. You did really well to stop.”

Steve can feel himself relax at the words as Tony squeezes his shoulder.

“Colour?” Tony asks. Steve blinks, not expecting it so soon, but he nods.

“Green,” he says. Tony eyes him for a second, a little suspicious, but accepts his word for it.

“So how do you want this evening to go?” Tony asks. “You came here with a plan, I expect.”

“I need you to…” Steve can’t find the words. He’s not sure what he’s asking for and he frowns. “I need you to tell me to stop,” he says after a minute.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees. “I can do that… But we need to get you comfortable first.” He drops his hand down to hook around Steve’s hand, and that sensation thrums in Steve’s chest as well. He is so unused to being touched these days, and Tony is giving it so easily. He shouldn’t want this, but it is so gentle and chaste that he cannot see any harm in it, especially compared to everything else he is intending to do.

Tony guides him gently through his home, to a bedroom. Steve pauses on the threshold for a second and, as soon as he feels resistance, Tony stops and turns to him.

“Colour?” he asks.

“Gre- Green,” Steve says.

“I said you have to be honest.”

“I can do this,” Steve says. It’s just a bed, he tells himself, but Tony shakes his head.

“It’s not about what you can do, it’s about what you want to do, darling,” he tells him. “Now this right here, this is a Yellow situation. Can you remember that? If you feel like this about anything, you say ‘yellow’. Alright?” Steve nods.

“Yellow,” he says, less shaky.

“Good, that’s good,” Tony says, stepping out of the bedroom. “I shouldn’t have jumped so far ahead. We can find somewhere else.” He pulls him into another room with a lounging chair in it. “How about this room?”

Steve looks around, at the large windows, with the heavy curtains, and walks over to draw them, then turns around to look at the place. It looks… homey and comfortable.

“Green,” he says after a moment, and Tony smiles a pleased little smile.

“Excellent. Now how do you feel about nudity?”

Steve considers this, looks to the windows, now covered by the curtains, and then thinks about what that would feel like, to be naked in front of Tony, completely exposed like he hadn’t been last time. There’s a frisson of something almost like fear, but more like excitement. It’s a curious sensation, because it hovers there in his head and he can feel his body flushing with it, but it makes his throat stop up a bit, makes his breath catch and his heart thunder.

“Green,” he says after another moment.

“You’re sure, there? Took you a little while to think about.,” Tony prompts, “If you don’t want to take your clothes off, then they can stay on.”

Steve shakes his head.

“It makes... “ he swallows around that strange blockage in his throat, then just starts stripping. The words won’t come, but he’s okay with this, becomes more okay with every item of clothing he takes off. He can feel Tony’s gaze on him like a physical touch, and there’s something strangely intoxicating about being the focus of it. Tony had been right last time that people look at Steve in a sexual way often. He is used to the glances these days - or is getting used to them. People whose eyes linger on certain parts of his body, or people who drag their gaze up and down, taking him all in with lust in their eyes. But this is different, it feels important, makes him feel important. All those other people were ogling Captain America. Tony is looking at Steve. He knows him too well to be looking at anyone else.

“I guess you’re sure,” Tony says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone strip so fast. Do you do everything like that?”

“Fast?” Steve asks.

“Efficient,” Tony corrects himself. “Minimum effort, maximum effect.”

“I try,” Steve says and Tony makes a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, like that’s interesting.

“Sit down, beautiful. Get comfortable… we could be here for a while.” The smile on his face is wicked and a touch lewd and Steve is feeling like he’s never going to stop blushing at this rate, but he sits down on the lounge chair. “Not like that,” Tony says, his voice getting a bit more assertive. “I said get comfortable. We’re not in the army now, there’s no generals to impress here. Just me… So relax. Lie back, spread those pretty legs for me.”

Steve’s mind stutters at the word ‘pretty’, but he tilts back, feeling more exposed with every centimetre, then he lets his legs relax, spreading them a bit.

“Colour?” Tony asks again.

“Green,” Steve replies, squirming a little. He’s not even doing anything, just lying down on a chair. They haven’t done anything.

“Alright then,” Tony agrees. “I’m going to sit over here, honey pie, and I’m going to tell you when to stop, okay?”

“Yes,” Steve says, his hand goes down to his cock, already half-erect, and he inhales sharply at the first touch, wrapping his hand around it and starting to pump.

“You really are efficient,” Tony says with a sigh and Steve winces because for once that doesn’t sound like a good thing. “No, it’s alright, it’s okay. It’s an observation, not a criticism. You want to get to the good part as fast as you can, but the ending isn’t the only good part. It’s not a race, darling. Think of it like a pleasure cruise: it’s not about the destination; it’s about the journey.” Steve frowns, giving Tony a small glare. “Don’t look like that, sweetheart. This is all about learning, right? So how about I give you the benefit of my many years of education. Foreplay is important. So stop what you’re doing.” Steve pulls his hand away, reluctantly.

“I’m not a dame, Stark.”

“Oh believe me, I am more than aware of that,” Tony says and Steve can hear the leer in his voice, but it sounds appreciative rather than mocking. It isn’t bad, Steve supposes, if Tony is getting something out of this as well. He should do, it’s only fair, and he had a point last time that people all over the world are… appreciating Steve’s form. What’s one more? “But women aren’t the only people who can enjoy a bit of foreplay. Like I said before - why have five minutes of pleasure when you can have half an hour?”

Steve shakes his head. Stark does love to exaggerate.

“You don’t think you can do it?” Tony asks. “You don’t think you can make half an hour without coming?”

“Tony…”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Tony says. “But not today. Today I just want you to slow down… don’t be so quick to jump to the end, of course it’ll be over fast if you always go at it like it’s going out of style.”

“So what would you suggest?” Steve asks, his hands clenched into the muscles of his thigh. He hadn’t thought he was moving fast, but apparently Tony knows better - as always. But that’s why Steve’s here, isn’t it? If there’s anything Tony will actually know better about then it’s this. A quick glance at Tony shows that he’s smiling, an arch little smile with something a bit feral around the edges, his eyes sweeping up and down Steve’s body in a way that makes Steve flush all over.

“I think your balls are looking a little neglected down there, maybe you should give them a little attention.” Tony says after a moment, his voice like thick honey.

Steve swallows, but one of his hands is already moving, going to cup his balls and he gasps at the sensation, rolling them around tentatively. His eyes fall shut and he snaps them open again as soon as he realises.

“That’s right, tug on them a little, see what you like,” Tony’s saying in the background, and Steve follows his instructions. A gentle pull sends a pulse of pleasure through his abdomen and his hips push up involuntarily. Tony’s still talking. “You see, your sensitivity can be a great thing. Look at how responsive you are.”

Steve tugs again and it’s just as good the second time. He rolls his hips lazily into the air.

“Good. That’s good, just like that…” Tony says, “Beautiful.”

The praise makes him feel warm, makes everything slow down a little, and things don’t seem so urgent any more.

“Now take your fingers, just behind your balls, to the skin right there, yes, that’s it,” Steve’s fingers trail down and the lightest touch sends sparks. All of his body feels like it’s lit up and oversensitive, but as he brushes his fingers over the skin just behind his balls, it feels like sparks, a fizz of electricity under his skin, and he lets out a small cry. “I thought you’d enjoy that. That’s your perineum. Fun, isn’t it?”

Steve nods, unable to bring himself to talk.

“Now, let’s go back to the star of the show,” Tony says. “You’ve got a beautiful cock, you know. Look at it, standing to attention, so sensitive, so eager.” He sounds like he’s talking about a prized pet, voice full of admiration and affection. Steve swallows at the compliment. It’s not a part of his anatomy he’s ever thought of as being particularly attractive. It’s not meant to be attractive, it’s functional. But Tony seems to be looking at it like he’s appreciating art. “And the way it’s dripping already.” Tony continues, his voice almost awed. “We’ve barely even begun. Do you think you can hold back if you touch it?”

“Yes,” Steve says, with certainty. He’s not that close, not right now, although the sensation of having Tony watch him seems to heighten everything, but there’s something else at play here, something that has filled his body with molasses, sweet and slow and warm.

“Then I want you to give it one good, long stroke, and then I want you to stop and put your hands behind your head,” Tony says. “Can you do that for me?” Steve nods, short and tight.

Steve braces himself, takes his hand and wraps it carefully around his cock, tensing his stomach muscles against the need to push up into the warm hold of his hand. He goes to mimic his usual actions, but remembers Tony’s words and deliberately, carefully, slows himself down, making it last. Just one, slow stroke from base to tip, where the precome makes it slick. He wants to do it again, and again, but he drags his hand away, forces both of his hands up and behind his head.

“Good, that was so good,” Tony says, his voice soft as velvet. “You’re doing so well. Look at you.” And Tony is looking at him, not missing a bit of the way Steve’s body is bowed tight, his muscles fluttering, the flush in his cheeks. He’s taking it all in, as a strange mix of shame and pride curls in Steve’s stomach, hot and fizzing.

He’s never felt this vulnerable. Not even before the serum, when a slight breeze could have knocked him over. Not when he woke up in the strange new world surrounded by strangers and contraptions that looked like torture devices. He’s been naked before, in front of other people even, but never like this, stretched out and seen, naked for no reason other than he chooses to be and exposed to Tony because he chose that too.

“Colour, darling, you’re looking a bit…” Tony trails off, one hand reaching out, but pausing part way through the air, as though he wants to offer comfort, but then remembers that he is not touching. This time he is not touching.

Steve is grateful that he remembered, not because he doesn’t want to be touched right now, but because he does. If Tony touched him right now, Steve thinks he would give in, be pushed over the edge into a place he doesn’t even know. It’s a terrifying feeling, like there are places inside himself, dark and secret, that he’s never even noticed existed.

He draws a deep breath and considers the precipice inside himself. He can stay away from that edge. 

“Green,” he says finally and Tony raises an eyebrow, pausing for a second, as though Steve’s going to change his mind. “I’m green,” he repeats. “What’s next?”

“We do it all over again,” Tony says, smiling slightly. “But before we do, a glass of water and some snacks might be called for.” He reaches over to the side and brings out a crystal glass of water and a china plate with fruit and cheese squares arranged on it. Why they are here, in this room, when Tony hadn’t even intended to come in here, Steve doesn’t know. But he does realise that hunger is growling in his stomach and he takes the offered refreshments gratefully. 

It is strange to be sitting there naked, Tony fully dressed, eating a cheese platter like he’s an ordinary house guest. He is hyper aware of his nudity, of his cock, which is less hard than it was, but still noticeably erect, on his lap, so he can’t rest the plate on his knees.

He doesn’t know what to say, but Tony fills the air with chatter about his suit, and Thor, and a million other pieces of information about the ultimates, not seeming to notice that Steve isn’t holding up the other end of the conversation. Usually, he’d be annoyed at the chatter and Tony’s insistence on hogging the limelight at every opportunity, but words seem like too much effort right now, and it’s strangely comforting to feel the words flow over and around him. A bit like it had once felt to sit surrounded by soldiers as they went on about their conversations. It’s a sense of camaraderie, he thinks, and he looks at Tony again and wonders if maybe the man is lonely.

It’s an absurd idea. Tony Stark, the dazzling billionaire, never seen without a beautiful young thing on his arm, hosting parties full of the elite and the powerful. Tony Stark who knows everyone, who has everyone’s private number. Tony Stark can’t be lonely.

But Steve feels like maybe he can see a bit of that in his eyes, sometimes. It takes one to know one, he thinks, bitterly. Loneliness, he can understand. And he knows what it’s like to be surrounded by people and feel more isolated than you ever had.

Tony’s chatter dies down a bit and Steve realises that he’s finished his water.

“Want some more?” Tony asks, gesturing to his glass.

“No more water, thank you,” Steve says, a bit stiffly. “But we could get back to… the training.”

It’s easier to think of it as training than as anything sexual. Easier to think of this as a course and Tony as a tutor than as anything more. And that is all that this is, isn’t it? No matter whether they are lonely or not, this is training.

Tony’s eyes go wide and a small, pleased smile, curves his mouth.

“Of course, darling. Whatever you want,” he says. “I’ll take those off you and you can lay yourself back down and get comfortable.” He takes the plate and the glass and Steve hears the clinks as they are set down, even over the sound of his own pulse, which is picking up again in nervous anticipation.

“Can you-” he stops himself before he can continue, but that leads to silence, Tony waiting for him to finish. “You can touch me this time,” he says, as decisively as he can manage. For a second, the space of a breath or more, Tony actually looks shocked, like he can’t find the words. And Steve has a small sense of victory at having caused that.

“Are you sure?” Tony asks, but he’s already setting his own glass - martini, not water - down and his fingers are flexing slightly. There is a definite victory there, a pride in himself, because Steve is the one causing that reaction. He has gone through this future reacting, and now it is his turn to cause reactions.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure,” Steve says, lying back down and sticking his hands back where they were, behind his head. He feels the vulnerability again, in the cold air against his skin, hardening his nipples and almost like a caress against his over-sensitive erection, but he stays where he is. He is not scared of this. He has been experimented on, shot, beaten, bruised and half-destroyed. He will not flinch from this.

“You’re so brave, darling,” Tony says, like he can read Steve’s mind. “You’re always the best, aren’t you?” He draws in a shaky breath and Steve can almost feel him drawing nearer, reaching out.

His body heat touches Steve first. Perhaps an ordinary person would not be able to sense the subtle change in temperature so soon, but Steve can feel it when Tony’s hand is more than an inch away, and his mind focuses on that radiating heat, reflected back by Steve’s own body. Heat feeding heat, growing hotter even as Tony’s hand draws closer.

Tony moves so slowly, Steve can hardly bear it, and he watches, forces himself to watch, as the long fingers draw closer. Tony’s hands are… they’re not large, workman’s hands, and maybe that’s why it’s affecting him like this. The fingers are long - pianist’s fingers, his ma would have called them, and almost elegant. They form a delicate curve as they reach, a line that’s seductive in how natural it is. This is not Tony’s usual gesture, Steve has seen those hands be eloquent, punctuating Tony’s speeches and cajolements with sinuous twists. He has seen them seduce, sliding over someone’s wrist, or down their back, beckoning people in with a lithe hint of sin. He has seen them attack, covered in armour and extended to shoot. He has seen them working, gripping at tools and tapping at screens, sharp and efficient in their movement.

But there is, in this moment, a hesitance he has never seen before. And there is no publicity to their motion. This is private.

His cock is already jumping at the thought, at the intimacy of it. It has been too long since Steve has had intimacy. Jan had been… There had never been that hint in their relationship of things bubbling under the surface as they understood that this was just for them. The room feels enclosed, Steve feels enclosed, contained within it. Like he’s protected and encased. Like Tony’s built a suit of armour around them both, cradling them together in this moment where the only two people that exist are the two of them.

“So brave,” Tony whispers again. “You have no idea…” he laughs slightly, and then the warm skin of his finger is just brushing against the head of Steve’s cock and he can’t help it. He erupts, the orgasm ripping through him like a champagne bottle popping open, sudden and exhilarating, making his body bow and buck with it. He’s coming, hard and copiously over his stomach and Tony’s hand and Tony is watching him as he does it.

Steve hears himself cry out, feels his muscles spasming with it, even after he’s stopped coming, he’s shaking with it, his skin so sensitive that the fabric of the upholstery against his back feels too rough.

And Tony’s touching him again, long soothing strokes along his sides and his thighs, his voice muttering words that aren’t audible over the white noise in Steve’s ears as he lies.

As the orgasm fade through his body, the embarrassment sets in, pulling him down, covering him in shame and he can feel his body flushing, and suddenly the room is far too cold. He blinks his eyes open and watches Tony as he wipes them both down, his face unreadable.

Steve shivers. The wet cloth against his stomach seems freezing, although he knows it can’t be, and his entire body feels like he’s had a fever, too hot and too cold and shaky all over. He’s never quite had an orgasm like that before, not one that overtook him so completely. What sent him spinning out like that.

“You’re okay,” Tony’s saying, among other platitudes. “That was good. You’ve been so good, Steve.” It fades into him and Steve shuts his eyes tight, only opening them again when something soft, fuzzy and warm is placed over him, gentle even on his sensitive skin. A blanket, he realises, looking down, fluffy and blue, one of those new fabrics that hadn’t existed when he was… before, and softer to the touch than anything had any right to be.

“There you are,” Tony says, grinning at him. “Was it good for you?” the question has a certain tone about it, a tone that means it is a reference or an in joke in this new millennium, one that Steve does not get, but he understands the meaning and swings himself up.

“I should leave,” he says, though he doesn’t want to. He remembers the tiny, empty, hollowness of his apartment.

“I’ve wasted enough of your time,” Steve tells him, standing up and folding the blanket up, unable to stop himself from stroking one hand over it as he sets it down on the seat. His clothes are easy to find, where he left them and he begins to get dressed.

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “These things can be a bit… intense, if you’re not used-”

“I’ve had orgasms before,” Steve snaps at him. He can handle this, can handle the strange lost feeling in his head.

“Sweetheart-”

“Must you?” Steve asks. “I’m fine, Stark.”

“Of course you are,” Tony says, reaching to pick up his martini glass and take a large gulp. “But did anyone ever tell you you don’t have to be?” The question sounds rhetorical, so Steve chooses to ignore it. He’s Captain America. He’s fine.

He walks out of Stark’s place onto the busy street and declines the car he finds waiting outside, because of course Tony would try to send him home in a car. But Steve’s got two good legs, he can walk perfectly well, even if those legs feel strangely disconnected from him right now. Even if the air still feels too much against his skin, and his t-shirt is rasping against his nipples, which are still hard. Even if he feels like every person on the street can look at him and see what he just did, what he just let Tony do. It feels as though all his secrets are shown right there on his face.

His own apartment seems smaller than ever, but there is no comfort to be found in how enclosed it is. It does not feel like safety. He rattles around in it, moving from one room to the next, and back again, never quite fixing on anything to do. He sits down at his computer, then goes to make himself a drink, but doesn’t finish anything. Eventually he sits down in front of the television and puts something on, daytime TV. But he can’t force himself to concentrate, his brain’s too busy thinking about what happened, over and over again.

Perhaps, he thinks, he is more broken than he has ever been.

One thing is for sure, he cannot do that again. That was a mistake.

*

It takes him two weeks to change his mind and give in to the thoughts that have been plaguing him. Two weeks in which Tony is mostly professional, just the odd sly smile and an errant wink, which are pretty much normal as far as he’s concerned. No one else seems to notice anything amiss. The Ultimates work together as well as they ever have, even if that’s nowhere near as well as anyone thinks they should, and Steve holds it together.

But two weeks of thinking about it, of touching himself and coming at the slightest memory of his name on Tony’s lips, and Steve is ready to go mad with it. His stomach feels tightly coiled all the time, and he’s no nearer to the stamina he needs.

So he needs more training. He just has to think about this logically.

And he ends up on Tony’s doorstep again, cap in hand, asking him for help.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Tony says, sliding the coat from Steve’s shoulders, his fingers lingering a little too much on the muscles of Steve’s biceps. “How have you been, darling?”

Desperate, Steve doesn’t say, Lost, he doesn’t say either. He shrugs and goes to undo his shirt.

“Ah,” Tony says. “Let me do that for you… I was thinking, after last time, that maybe it would help if I touched you more. Getting used to another person can be tricky. It’s like being tickled.” Steve looks at him as though he’s crazy and Tony lifts one finger to tap against Steve’s chin. “Tickling yourself doesn’t work, but someone else tickling you - that’s a different experience. It’s a bit like that with sex.”

“So you want to… touch me, again?” Steve says. Tony’s hands are sweeping over his chest.

“Yes,” Tony says, no preamble. “Would you be interested in that?”

Steve stares at him.

“What’s your colour, Steve? I need to know.”

“Green,” Steve replies almost immediately, and Tony smiles a cunning, mischievous smile at that.

“Good boy,” he says, gentle and secretive. “You’re going to have so much fun.”

His hands slip up, round Steve’s neck and curl into his hair, fingertips scraping against Steve’s scalp as he tugs at the hair gently, pulling Steve’s head back a bit.

Steve groans at the feeling, in spite of himself. It is a quiet noise, barely audible, just caught in his throat, but he can hear it, and he can’t help the rising colour in his cheeks at the sound of it, the feel of the vibration in his chest.

“Oh yes, darling. I’m going to make you feel so good,” Tony promises, his words like silk in the air against Steve’s throat. “Now you stand very still and let me get you out of those clothes.”

Steve freezes in place, almost not daring to breathe.

“Colour?” Tony’s voice whispers in his ear.

“Green,” Steve replies. There is no hesitance in him as he lets Tony move his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, removing the cloth a few centimetres at a time, revealing Steve’s undershirt below.

“Always so properly dressed, aren’t you?” Tony asks, but it’s not a real question, Steve can tell, he doesn’t have to answer it. He closes his eyes, because it’s easier if he can’t see and it feels more, too. The layers of him being peeled away with his clothing. The brush of Tony’s fingers through fabric, then the sudden breath against his wrists as Tony undoes his cuffs, one by one.

The shirt slides off his shoulders in one long, sweep of fabric, that sends tingles along his arms and down his spine.

He feels the pull as Toy unbuckles his belt, hears the clink of metal on metal as it is pulled through the loops and dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

“It’s so amazing that you let me see you like this,” Tony tells him. “You’re so amazing…” he pauses and then a cool hand cups Steve’s cheek. The sudden skin to skin contact is startling, bringing Steve’s eyes wide open so he’s looking right at Tony, right into his blue eyes, eyes that look far too serious for Tony Stark.

Tony steps right into his personal space, his hands sweep over his chest and under Steve’s arms, palming at the muscles of his back, kneading them slightly before dipping down into the waistband of Steve’s slacks, his long fingers dipping down over Steve’s ass before lifting up again, pulling the hem of Steve’s undershirt with them.

“Arms up for me, dearheart,” Tony says, his words barely more than a breath, but Steve obeys, lifting his arms, and feeling the colder air against his skin as Tony’s hands pull round to his front again and lift the undershirt up, up and over his head, exposing Steve’s chest and stomach to the air and to Tony’s gaze. 

The undershirt joins the rest of Steve’s clothes on the floor, and usually he would be more concerned about that - the disrespect shown to the clothing, but right now, he is not concerned with anything other than the way Tony’s fingernails are scraping gently over his pectorals, stopping to worry at Steve’s nipples, drawing a gasp of breath from him, met by Tony’s pleased chuckle.

“So sensitive,” Tony says. “And you think that’s a bad thing. That’s not a bad thing, Steve. It’s a joy. I can’t imagine anyone getting to play with you like this and being disappointed.”

“Then I guess your imagination isn’t too good,” Steve says. He can’t help himself, but his voice sounds so unlike himself, lower, with a raspy edge.

“My imagination is brilliant,” Tony tells him. “The things I conjure up in my mind. You have no idea.”

“Guess that’s why you’re the great inventor, then,” Steve says.

“Not quite what I meant, but I’m delighted that you think I’m ‘great’, darling.” Steve wants to protest, but he’s not sure what he would be protesting. There’s no denying that Tony’s mind has come up with some incredible things. “Now, we’re going to need you to sit down, so I can free your feet from those shoes of yours.” He takes Steve by the hand, not gripping him hard at all, and leads him over to a chair, tugging him down into it, then Steve watches as Tony folds, coming down to kneel at Steve’s feet. He stares. Watches as Tony unties his laces and lifts Steve’s leg to pull the shoes off, one by one, then pushes his fingers up under the cuffs of his pants leg until they come to skin, leaving hot, tingling trails wherever they touch, and pulling down his socks to throw them over his shoulder. His fingers linger, digging into the arch of Steve’s foot, rubbing across his toes and into the hollows between them.

Steve has never thought of feet as being… responsive. They are for walking, kicking sometimes; you keep them clean and dry to avoid trench foot. He has never thought of them as being pleasurable, but Tony’s fingers against the skin there are making him realise that his whole body seems to be involved in this. Every inch of his skin is available to Tony. He’s rock hard in his pants and Tony hasn’t even been near to his erection.

He doesn’t know how this works. How has Tony connected every part of his body to his cock? How is every touch somehow pulling at that coil of arousal in his stomach. Tony’s looking up at him now and reaching for the button of his fly and all Steve can think is ‘this is it’, as he prepares himself, gritting his teeth.

But Tony does not touch him, not deliberately, not where Steve wants him to touch. He undoes the zip of Steve’s fly, and has him lift his hips so that Tony can slide his pants off, then he gently pulls his underwear away as well, tossing that across the room to land with the rest of Steve’s clothes, wet patch and all.

The only notice Tony gives to Steve’s erection at all is to look at it, then glance up at Steve with a smirk.

“Glad to see you enjoying yourself. You should do it more often, honeybuns,” Then he starts to rub his hands into Steve’s legs, massaging the muscles there in sure, determined strokes, each one making Steve sag a little in relief as knots of muscles dissolve under his hands.

At some point he grabs a bottle of oil or something, because his hands become slick and warm and every touch is better, working down his legs, one at a time, never coming close to Steve’s cock where it just out red and leaking, just taking his time.

“Colour?” Tony asks, rubbing his thumbs into the ball of Steve’s right foot.

“Green,” Steve lets out, his voice liquid and thick.

“That’s what I like to hear. I want you to feel good. I want you to only feel good, and if you don’t feel good, you tell me, okay. I just want to make you happy. That’s what we’re here for, after all. Now I’m going to do your shoulders and your neck, okay?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes out. He makes a little noise when his leg is set down, but soon enough Tony’s hands are back, working at his shoulders fiercely with a dedication Steve wasn’t sure Tony could give to anything that wasn’t his suit or pissing people off. It is a revelation to find out what it is like to have that dedication directed at him.

And as Steve melts down, Tony’s hands dip lower down his front, still slick with oil, working it into his pecs, toying with his nipples, every tug at them making Steve’s body twitch with pleasure, his cock slapping against his abs, leaving sticky wet trails of precome. His hand reaches out to stroke it. He’s feeling so close right now, so relaxed and soft. It wouldn’t take much, just one-

“Ah ah ah, dear,” Tony says and a hand grips Steve’s wrist. It is firm, but Steve could break free easily. He doesn’t. He lets his hand be pulled back. “Not yet. We’re not ready yet.”

“Please,” Steve says, his voice ragged.

“Remember why we’re doing this,” Tony says. “You wanted to get more stamina. So be a good boy and do as I tell you. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Steve agrees.

“That’s so good, so good,” Tony tells him, and Steve feels like he’s floating on the words. “I promise that it’ll be so good. Waiting makes it sweeter, darling. Almost as sweet as you.”

Steve frowns a bit, because he isn’t ‘sweet’. That’s not a word you use to describe men. ‘Sweet’ is for women and dainty things. It’s a delicate word, and if there’s one thing Steve isn’t, it’s delicate.

“You should let yourself be pampered more,” Tony breathes into his ear. “You are such a lovely mess, right now. I can’t believe I get to see you like this, darling, so pliant under my hands. You’re not really made of stone at all, are you?”

“Tony,” Steve says, unable to get anything past his lazy tongue but Tony’s name, broken and shaky.

“Yes, darling, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You know how long it’s been, Steve? It’s been ten minutes and you’re still hard for me. You’re doing so well. I’ve been touching you this whole time and you haven’t come yet. Now I’m going to take a little break, okay.I’ll be right over there.” His hands dip low, across Steve’s abs and Steve can feel his cock jump at having them so close. “And you’re going to stay here and you’re not going to touch yourself, okay?”

Steve nods.

“I need to hear you say it,” Tony prompts.

“I’m not going to touch myself,” Steve says. He wants to. He wants to so much. There’s this aching pressure of arousal at the base of his brain, but Tony’s right. They are doing this for a reason. This is training. He can get through this. It’s no different from his muscles aching when he does his exercises it’s just a different muscle. Aching in a different way, a way that keeps sending ripples of need through him, radiating from his groin across his body.

Tony withdraws. Steve doesn’t watch him go, just closes his eyes and concentrates on not coming. It is both easier and more difficult with Tony across the room. He can hear his footsteps, over to the sideboard, the clink of the stopper being pulled from a decanter, the trickle of liquid falling into a glass. Tony likes expensive alcohol, Steve knows. Tony likes everything to be expensive.

A thought flashes across his mind, that makes his stomach twist uncomfortably before he shoves the thought away again. The thought of what that expensive scotch or brandy, or whatever it is, would taste like on Tony’s lips.

He shoves it down, buries it.

“You’re getting all tense again,” Tony says from above, clearly looking down at Steve again, surveying his handiwork. “And I took so much time getting you all nice and relaxed. Colour, darling?”

“Green,” Steve responds, almost aggressively. He can handle it.

“Hm?” Tony says, it’s not accusatory, but there’s a tone and Steve frowns.

“... could be yellow,” he admits. That thought had shot him out of whatever comfortable place he had been in. He feels on edge again, uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Good, I’m glad you told me, now do you know why you’re feeling that way?” Tony asks and Steve shifts uncomfortably, his eyes going to the ceiling with careful determination. “Alright, wrong question for the moment, we can talk about that later. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Steve wants to say no, but there’s this small quiet voice inside him that is reminding him that when Tony was touching him everything went to that slow, gentle place that seemed to stretch out into glorious sensation. But to admit that, to ask for that.

“Whatever you need,” Tony prompts, crouching down next to him. “If you need me to slow down, if you need me to speed up, if you need me to stop touching you.” Steve’s mouth opens, the words caught in his throat. “Is that what you need?” Tony asks, seeing it, because of course he sees it, Steve can’t pretend that Tony isn’t observant. Steve shakes his head. “Alright, then is it the opposite? Do you need me to touch you?” Steve can’t say it, can’t ask for it out loud, but he brings his gaze down from the ceiling to look into Tony’s too clear blue eyes. They are so close he can smell the scent of alcohol on Tony’s breath, but he doesn’t think about it, doesn’t want to think about it. Can’t think about it. Tony must see something in his eyes though, because he brings a hand up slowly and cups Steve’s face again. Steve pushes into it automatically.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tony murmurs. “You need me to touch you. What’s your colour now?”

“Green,” Steve says immediately and automatically. His skin is lighting up again with that touch. It’s so much easier not to think when Tony’s touching him and the sensation is there to concentrate on. “Please,” he says.

“Oh, you have no idea what you are, do you?” Tony says. His voice is strangely forlorn and far away. “Of course I’ll touch you, dearest. How could I resist? You know what they say about me.”

Steve does know what they say. He’s heard them, the rumours and the media and SHIELD agents. They have so much to say about Tony Stark and none of it was ever about how soft he can be.

His hand slides round to the back of Steve’s neck, tugging him forwards until their foreheads touch.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Tony whispers. It’s a strange oath to make to Captain America. Steve has never needed anyone to take care of him, not even when he was dying of anything that came along. But he feels a pang in his chest at the words, like maybe he wants that, that thing that he shouldn’t want. Maybe a part of him is weak and needs someone to just… Tony’s hand pets through his hair. “I won’t leave you alone again, darling. I promise.” 

He starts to knead his hands at Steve’s chest again, massaging the muscles there like he’d massaged Steve’s shoulders, pushing the tension out of them, soothing it away until Steve’s back in that quiet, floating place again, his erection insistent, but his arousal a purr, rumbling in the background.

Tony’s hands go lower and lower, and Steve bucks up into them, but while they dance across his hip bones and the dip of his belly button, they don’t touch where Steve wants them.

“You look like you’re close,” Tony says, and his hands pull down, still touching, but just resting lightly on Steve’s knees, not losing contact, squeezing gently in a way that makes Steve buck again. “Time for another breather, darling.”

Steve makes a keening noise at that, words not coming, just a noise that doesn’t sound anything like himself. He should be embarrassed, he probably will be later, but he’s never been this aroused before. Not with Gail, not with Jan, not with any of his fantasies. But here comes Tony Stark, and Steve feels like he’s discovered some new level of pleasure that he was never allowed before.

It makes sense, of course it does. Tony is good at this, has had practice - a lot of practice. It makes sense that he would know what he’s doing. It has nothing to do with Steve and everything to do with Tony. Steve is not the one in charge here. He’d be just as hard if anyone touched him, just as aroused by anyone with the knowledge of how to play his body like this. Everyone responds to physical stimuli.

“Don’t get lost in your head again,” Tony says, reaching up to sweep Steve’s hair off his forehead, where it has been plastered with sweat. Steve hadn’t realised how much he was sweating until now, and he can feel it all over his body, dripping behind his knees, glistening over his torso. He looks down and realises that his body, flushed and sweaty, looks like it has run a marathon, but he’s done nothing but lie here.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks.

“Green,” Steve replies automatically, making Tony smile and then Tony reaches for one of his nipples again, just swiping his fingers across it, and Steve jumps at the sparks of sensation it sends off. He’s even more sensitive now. Every time they return, it’s like his skin is new again, the feel of the fabric underneath him is fizzing through him, the warmth of Tony’s skin and now…  
He looks down to see Tony’s mouth descending onto his other nipple, sucking hard, once and Steve bucks up with a shout.

Close. So close.

And Tony pulls back again, grinning.

“Hold on,” Tony says. “That’s good. You keep holding on for me, you’re doing so well, Steve.”

Steve nods. He can do this. He can hold on just a little longer. That is why he’s here, after all. This is what he’s here to learn.

Tony looks at him, then reaches out to trace his finger right down the centre of Steve’s chest, along his sternum. Steve can still feel the featherlight touch tickling long after Tony’s hand is no longer in contact with his body.

“One more, I think,” Tony says, “but this time you’re going to touch yourself while I touch you, and you’ll stop when I say stop, okay?” Steve nods, the mission directives are clear.

Tony reaches out to grasp Steve’s hand and pulls it down between his legs.

“Just your balls,” he says firmly. “Not your cock.” The body part in question jerks at that, as if demanding attention, but Steve reminds himself that Tony knows what they are doing and ignores it, doing as Tony instructed, just as Tony reaches out to run his fingertips down Steve’s sides, a quick, light touch that seems to burn into Steve’s skin, making his head fall back and his breath quicken and tighten in his chest, even as his own hand cups his balls.

“There, just like that,” Tony says, putting the flat of his palms against Steve’s abs and sliding them upwards until he can sweep them across Steve’s collar bones to his shoulders. Steve can feel his orgasm within his grasp. “Stop.”

Steve stops immediately, his hand pulling away, and he teeters on the edge, right there, for a second, another, and then the grip of Tony’s hands on his biceps anchors him back down and he opens his eyes, chest heaving with breath.

“You’re doing so well,” Tony tells him. “This next time I won’t stop you, sweetheart. This time you can come.”

And Steve does. Just the promise is enough for him and his back is bowing with it, cock jerking and he’s coming all over himself to the sound of Tony’s voice telling him to do it.

Tony cleans him up again, as Steve sags, boneless on the couch, his body shuddering and oversensitive, like a raw nerve. He stares at the ceiling, wondering what has happened to him. He has never had orgasms like these. He tries to tell himself it’s Tony’s experience showing itself through skill, but there’s a part of his mind that thinks he could have imagined anyone during these sessions, could have thought of Jan or some other girl - a movie star maybe, with pretty eyes, red lips and perfectly sized breasts. But he hasn’t. His mind has never wandered. He has always been right here with Tony, in the moment. It has never been anyone other than Tony doing these things to him.

What does that make him?

He accepts Tony’s offer of the shower, and scrubs his skin red, although the temperature is punishingly cold. Cold enough to remind him of the ice, to remind him that he shouldn’t be here.

He steps out, his skin practically and gratefully numb, and says his goodbyes calmly enough. Tony is still Tony, draping himself over furniture with laughter in his eyes.

“Ah look at you,” Tony says. “All dressed up and proper again. Until next time, then darling. I’ll be waiting by the phone for your call.”

Steve ignores him, because Tony is Tony and he will always be ridiculous about this. Steve’s honestly lucky that Tony hasn’t announced it live on air that he’s been… doing things with Captain America. 

He cooks himself a basic meal, meat and potatoes, some tinned vegetables, and eats it almost mechanically. The shower hadn’t been enough to numb the memory of Tony’s fingers on his skin.

Perhaps he’s gone too far now to ever find his way back.

*

He tries masturbating that night, he carefully conjures up an image of a woman, the sort of woman they had pin-ups of in the barracks, that the guys kept carefully folded pictures of stuck in their boots, so creased that they were almost just disconnected body parts.

It doesn’t work, his brain flies back to Tony’s couch, the teasing touch of his fingers against Steve’s skin. 

He pulls his thoughts away and heads over to the shiny new laptop Tony had handed to him with a wink. No need to worry about SHIELD spying on this one, and Tony, well Tony already knows everything there is to know, Steve thinks with a frustrated twist of his mouth. What else is there to hide from Tony?

He opens it up and finds the web browser, putting it in private browsing mode, even though he’s sure that won’t do much good if anyone is spying on him still.

It takes a moment before he can decide what he wants to type, and he presses the keys so gently as he puts it in he has to retype it three times before it will register properly.

His finger hovers over the enter key for a second before he summons up the determination to press it. Porn is not new, he’s seen it before. There’s a whole industry for it these days. He’d actually met an actress who starred in erotic movies during one of the Ultimates promotion tours. She’d been right there, talking with everyone and no one had batted an eyelid. This is normal, now.

He presses enter.

Results flood the screen. Sordid titles and little squares of videos with descriptions next to them. He scrolls down and down, feeling a little dizzy at the variety available.

He picks one at random, but it only takes a few moments of exaggerated sounds and shots of the man on the screen slapping at the woman’s rear before Steve back buttons out of it, his jaw tight and his penis completely uninterested. The crudity of the scene is everything he abhors about the future, and nothing like his experience has been. His moments with Gail had been awkward, but earnest, fumbling certainly, but there had been something there. His time with Jan had been less connected, but it had still been quiet, dedicated. It had not been a big production. What has happened with Tony has been more of a production, he has been on display, and he flushes to think about it, but it hasn’t been… like that. There has still been that quiet intimacy.

He looks at the computer screen with suspicion, and tries typing in a different search term, clicking enter more quickly this time.

Another selection of videos pop up and he just clicks on the top one. It takes him a second to realise that it’s two men, and he almost back buttons again, but his hand hovers, hesitating. After all, this is what he is experiencing, perhaps this is important research.

He is intending to watch objectively, but it takes seconds for his stomach to twist with a sudden spike of arousal and his hand is reaching for his fly. He can feel his throat go dry as the thudding of blood in his ears and the sound of the breaths from the speakers drown out the voice at the back of his head that is telling him to shut the video down.

There is something almost tangible about it. The scene drags his eyes in and he can’t pull them away again, swallowing hard as the man on the screen begs for release, his eyes huge as his partner smiles.

He can’t help but picture himself there, like that. He has never pictured himself begging before, the idea of it sticks in his mind like a stone in a horse’s hoof, but something about the image the men make on screen, and the idea of Tony leaning over him like that and saying ‘not yet, darling’ in his dark chocolate voice, and Steve being restrained, like in the video, unable to do anything about it.

He forgets that he’s supposed to be telling himself no, and he barely makes it a few seconds before he’s coming all over his hand with a ragged, broken, needy moan.

The sounds of the video continue, his eyes still caught on the sight of them together, and he keeps watching, as the one in charge slicks up a finger and teases at the other man’s hole, smirking as his partner rolls their hips helplessly.

The fingertip slides in and Steve watches in astonished fascination. He’d known, intellectually, how sex between two men went. But seeing it like this, as something displayed and shared, something enjoyed, that is different. It has always been abstract and abrupt, when he’s imagined it. He hadn’t thought about getting from A to B, but here it is, laid out in front of him. His erection is returning and he looks down at it in confusion, because he has never thought this sounded attractive before. But maybe…

The skin of his cock is so sensitive, he can barely touch it at first, but he manages to come again as the man on the screen rolls a condom on and slides home with a groan of pleasure.

Steve’s a mess, covered in come and flushing in blotchy red patches all over, too hot and too cold all at once. He wipes his hands off before touching the laptop, carefully. He can’t imagine a situation more awkward than taking his laptop in to be fixed, the keys stuck with the remnants of his evening’s pleasure.

He shuts down the video before it is finished, telling himself there is no need to see the end, and tidies up his tiny apartment with dedication, washing all the sheets and towels in the place along with the clothes he’d been wearing. Most of them are already clean, but the process of it eases something inside him.

It is better to keep his mind on scrubbing the sheets in the sink than to let his thoughts stray to Tony and the way his fingers had trailed over Steve’s skin, as though it were something fragile and delicate.

He scrubs.

*

It’s a bad day, and everything seems to make it worse. The music his neighbour plays is too loud, too modern, nothing but a pounding bass line. He is out of food and has to go to the bodega, but it’s shut so he has to go to the bigger grocery story where the lights are those harsher electric ones that buzz like saws right into his skull.

A car almost runs him down in the street, honking. The headlines of the newspapers scream out problems he cannot solve and right next to them the glossy magazines simultaneously insult and objectify everyone.

Then, when he makes it home again, he is so agitated that he forgets to be gentle and accidentally breaks his radio player, scratching one of his favourite records.

The world feels like it’s coming down around his ears and he needs to escape.

He turns up on Tony’s doorstep and his face must look like thunder because the butler, always so blank and reserved, actually raises an eyebrow at him, though he says nothing.

Steve takes the stairs two at a time, his jaw almost aching with the way he is clenching it, his hands sweaty with the anticipation of what is coming.

“No,” Tony says as soon as he walks through the door.

Steve’s hands ball into fists.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” he asks.

“I mean you’re in no fit state, right now,” Tony says. “Look at you, you’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

“You think that… I can control myself,” Steve spits out and Tony just raises an eyebrow.

“Your hand is bleeding,” he says and Steve looks down to see that his fingernails have bitten half circles into the palm of his hand, little rivulets of blood are running down.

“It’ll be healed in a minute. I can’t even feel it,” he says. Tony raises a finger.

“That’s exactly the point,” Tony says. “You can’t even feel it. In this mood, you won’t be able to judge your limits. And that’s not fair on either of us.”

“You’re just going to… say no?” Steve asks. Tony shrugs. “I thought you…”

“You thought I was so desperate to get my hands on you and so depraved that I would leap at the chance to touch you,” Tony says. “Sorry, darling. I’m not that person.”

Steve turns to the door.

“Don’t be like that,” Tony says.

“You’ll help?”

“Well, I’m not going to send you out when you’ll probably end up punching the next person you see who looks at you funny,” Tony says. “I’m a superhero after all, I have an obligation to protect the people, even the idiotic ones. And I’ve always found that a good meal can do wonders for my mood. It’s almost dinner time after all. Stay, eat with me. I know how much food you need.”

Steve’s stomach reminds him that he is indeed hungry. He had never got around to cooking after everything else that had happened. Tony is perhaps not the dinner partner he would choose, but he does serve good food. He nods and Tony beams.

“Excellent, then let’s eat.”

*

Tony’s dining room is clearly built for dinner parties. The table could seat twelve easily, and they end up down one end, almost squashed together by the press of the emptiness.

It isn’t as awkward as Steve would have guessed. Tony gets him talking about his day, pulls out the stories one by one, like pulling thorns out of a lion’s foot. And somewhere along the way, he makes them into jokes. He cannot take anything seriously, but in this case, it eases something in Steve, smoothing out the day into something not-bad.

The tension seeps out of them and they talk. It is strange to have this. Steve cannot remember the last time he just talked to someone who wasn’t Bucky. He had never managed it with Jan, and there are so few people around for him to talk to. Tony is a startlingly good conversationalist when they are not arguing with each other, and Steve is astonished to look at the clock as he finishes another drink and find that it is closer to being tomorrow than today.

“I should go,” he says, standing up. “Thank you… for dinner,” he says. Tony stands too and smiles at him.

“You’re more than welcome, dearheart.”

“And thank you for…” Steve pauses and they both know what he’s thinking, “the conversation.”

“Any time,” Tony says, and Steve genuinely believes him. There doesn’t seem to be any artifice in his smile.

*

“I’ve been thinking,” Iron Man says. “About our one-on-one training sessions.”

They are in the middle of cleaning up after a battle against some cyborg dinosaur creatures, and the whole team is present.

“Iron Man,” Steve hisses, looking around to where Wasp is flying on the other side of the street, and where Giant Man is picking up fallen rubble, but neither of them seems concerned.

“Hush, darling. We’re on a private channel,” Tony says, and Steve can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows the man is doing this on purpose. “I thought you’d prefer that… but I might be wrong. Would you like to open up our sessions? We could make it a group event, I suppose.”

“Tony,” Steve says as sharply as he can manage.

“No need to worry,” Tony tells him, swooping down in the armour to pass right by him, so close that Steve can feel the air rush past his face. “This is just between us. But I’ve had some ideas, you should come round later. If you want.”

What Steve wants is to not be standing here having this conversation in the middle of the goddamn street with law enforcement officials standing less than three metres away.

“Fine. I’ll see you then,” Steve says, hurriedly, trying to get the conversation out of the way as quickly as possible.

“Looking forward to it, dearest,” Tony says, and Steve wonders what exactly he has just agreed to.

*

Steve is tired and angry. There had been a protest after the battle. Civilians with placards and chants calling for the Ultimates to go home. Some of the slogans had been particularly unflattering. And now, he’s agreed to go round to see Tony and whatever it is the man has cooked up for him.

Tony doesn’t seem bothered by any of it as he greets Steve, rising from the sofa, drink in hand, as it always seems to be.

“You look more like thunder than Thor ever has,” Tony tells him. “It can’t be that bad.” Steve just stares at him incredulously, because Tony was there. Tony knows the things that people were shouting at him. Saw that one woman throw something at him, only to be dragged away by the police. How can Tony just… ignore it? “Alright, maybe it is that bad. But we’re all wading through the shit together, sweetheart.”

“I thought you built a flying suit so you wouldn’t have to,” Steve replies, and Tony laughs, heartily and pleased.

“It does have some benefits,” Tony admits. “But right now we’re talking about you. Sit down. You never relax.”

“I relax just fine,” Steve protests, but he sits down as Tony stands up. But rather than coming over to massage him, as Steve half expects - half wants - Tony instead heads over to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asks.

“Ideas, darling, I’ve had some. Well, I always have ideas,” Tony adds, tilting his head with a half-smile. “These particular ideas were about you, and how to help you out.” He reaches into the chest and pulls out a length of rope and what looks like a cord with two adjustable sliders on it. Steve frowns at it, trying to work out what exactly it is that Tony is holding. “Hm… is that a good stare or a bad one, dear?”

“Does it…” Steve stops himself and shakes his head. “This will help?” he asks. Tony frowns, coming over to sit next to him, and holds out the cord. Up close, Steve can see it is not actually cord, but a length of rubber. He doesn’t take it.

“Have a look at it,” Tony says. “Play around with it. Feel what it’s like. It’s adjustable, which is helpful, given that I didn’t exactly have you around to test them out on.”

Steve slowly lifts his hand up and takes hold of it, pulling at it gently. It stretches easily enough, and the toggles pull up and down smoothly. He wishes that he knew what they were talking about. His research clearly hadn’t been thorough enough, because he is completely mystified as to what this is. He had been expecting a cock ring or something similar, but this is… He grits his teeth, knowing that Tony will have a field day at his admission.

“What… is it?” he asks. Tony looks at him, blinks once and then opens his mouth. Rather than the condescension Steve was expecting, what comes out is actually useful.

“Oh, sorry. I got ahead of myself. It’s an adjustable cock ring, dearest. He pokes a finger into the loop at the bottom, tugging slightly. “This bit goes around your testicles. This part,” he taps the section between the two toggles, “is where your cock goes. And if it gets uncomfortable, you can just move the toggles and we take it off.” He smiles.

“Does it…” Steve starts again, cutting himself off again, because that is a stupid question.

“Does it what?” Tony asks. Steve grimaces down at the item, unable to believe he’s actually holding it. “It’s okay to ask questions,” Tony continues. “That’s how we learn. We ask questions. And you’ve never seen any of this before. I want you to ask questions. All the questions you want. Whatever you need to be comfortable.”

“Does it… hurt?” Steve asks, flicking his eyes up to Tony’s and then away again, quickly. He shouldn’t be worried about that. Other people clearly use these things, and he’s Captain America. A little pain is nothing he can’t handle.

“Not if you do it right,” Tony replies, reaching out to stroke a hand over Steve’s shoulder. “None of this should hurt - unless we both agree to it, but that’s a whole different thing - and if anything hurts I want you to tell me so we can stop immediately. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.”

Steve looks up with a raised eyebrow at that, but Tony seems sincere, so he nods, and passes the… the cock ring from hand to hand, examining it. It doesn’t seem that scary. Not like the ones he’d seen on the internet, heavy metal bands and tight vibrating rubber. It can go as tight or as loose as he wants. That’s a relief, too. When he was looking at them, he had been wondering how you went around finding one that fitted. He’d wondered if it was like a tailor, and someone brought out their measuring tape.

Tony, it seems, has thought of that.

“So, how do you feel about giving it a try?” Tony asks, reaching up to push Steve’s hair off his face, where it is stuck there.

“I’m…” Steve looks down at himself, still in uniform and filthy. “I need to… shower.”

“Of course,” Tony says. “You know where it is. Should I get you some clothes?”

Steve thinks for a second as he stands up.

“That won’t be necessary just yet,” he says. Perhaps sex is what he needs to unwind. It’s been a long day, and his time with Tony has always been relaxing.

He heads for the shower and once again marvels at the luxury Tony has at his fingertips. There are multiple shower heads, multiple settings, some of which make the water pulse all the way down Steve’s back, and the water gets so hot, and the pressure is amazing. It feels hedonistic to just stand in the tiled stall and let the water fall on him, dripping down his body, massaging his scalp.

He washes all the dirt and the pain of the day down the drain, and watches the water go from cloudy to clear and bright, even if he doesn’t feel it on the inside, there is something freeing to strip it away from his skin. Tony’s bath products are luxurious as well, a range of different scents, products that Steve has no idea what they are for. He used to have one bar of soap that he used for every part of him. These days there are bottles, it seems, for every body part. Ones for before you shower, ones for during, ones for after, and others you layer on even after that. It is excessive, but Steve can’t deny that the scent of sandalwood that tingles his nostrils is pleasing as he rubs the shower gel across his body with the loofer, enjoying the scratch of it against his skin.

He takes longer than he should to shower and scowls at he looks at the clock when he steps out, scrubbing the fluffy, light as a cloud towel across his head.

On the floor, lying innocent and unassuming, is the cock ring, and Steve stares at it. It feels like it is staring back, although that is a foolish thought. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, towel still clutched in his hand, staring at the thing, lying there, before he makes up his mind. He is here to learn, to train his body, and when you train you need to use the right tools. So this is his tool for this, just as the weights and punching bags in the gym are the equipment for the rest of his body.

And from what Tony had said, it seems pretty easy to use… just… slip it on, tighten it and that’s it.

His cock is already taking interest as he leans down to pick it up, pulling at it a little again, feeling the elastic give, and then he looks down at his cock, where it is starting to perk up.

Telling himself that this is no different than tying the shoelaces of his running shoes, Steve lifts his cock and slips the bottom loop around his balls. It doesn’t fit at first, he has to pull on the toggle to open it up, then slip it over. Then he pushes the toggle in until the loop is snug against his skin. It feels strange and alien against his skin, hard and unyielding, and the tight tug of the elastic is odd.

Then he manoeuvres his cock into the other loop, glad that he’s not fully erect yet, although he’s getting harder every second, and tightens that loop around the base of his cock, not tight enough to feel tight, but enough that he can feel it, sitting there. It feels strange, it looks stranger, with the ends sticking right up, like horns. Steve shifts from foot to foot, testing it, but it isn’t uncomfortable, just… strange.

He looks at the door and his body flushes again, all over, at the idea of walking out there like this, bared to the world, his cock on display like this, but he squares his shoulders and reminds himself that the previous sessions have been entirely fine, enjoyable even. Tony has done nothing to make him feel uncomfortable, as strange as he finds that to believe. There is no reason to doubt him now. But Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be made for this sort of thing.

He puts his towel back on the heated towel rail, neatly so the edges are lined up, and grabs one of the robes from the back of the door before picking up his clothes and heading outside.

Tony is tapping away on his phone, but puts it away as soon as Steve walks back in, his eyes taking him in as he sets his clothes down on the stool by the doorway before striding over to Tony.

“Someone looks determined,” Tony says. “How are you feeling?”

“Green,” Steve says, without needing to think about it. He can do this. Tony is sitting there, his posture relaxed and spread out, as non-threatening as anyone could be.

“Good… now let’s get you lying down, can I touch you?” Tony asks. Steve nods and then says ‘yes’ out loud as well because Tony likes to hear the words.

Tony’s hands pull him gently over to the sofa and they reach up to his shoulders, stroking along the soft material of the robe for a second. Tony, Steve thinks, is a very tactile person. He is always touching things, stroking his fingers over them, whether it’s the fabric of the sofa or the lines of the Iron Man suit, or Steve’s skin. Steve shudders at the thought.

“Cold?” Tony asks, his voice only barely above a whisper. “I can turn the temperature up if you-” he pulls away and Steve catches him around the wrist before he can get too far.

“No, I was just… I’m not cold,” he says, nodding to punctuate the statement. Tony nods and steps back into his space.

“In that case, do you mind if I get you out of this?” he asks, fingers slipping under the neck of the robe, teasing at the freshly cleaned skin of Steve’s neck.

“Not at all,” Steve says, and the fingers push slowly, until the fabric is pouring down his arms into a puddle on the floor and Steve is left standing, bare and exposed, only wearing that strip of rubber around his cock, and Tony’s looking down at it, his eyes round.

“Oh,” Tony says, the words seeming to have escaped him. “I didn’t think… You’re already prepared. Of course you are,” he smiles indulgently at Steve, like Steve’s done something truly endearing. “You’re the man with a plan, after all. Is it comfortable?” Steve stops for a second to analyse the question.

“It’s not uncomfortable,” he settles on after a moment, and Tony chuckles, before reaching out to check the tightness.

“Good to know, handsome, but if it gets uncomfortable or painful, let me know, okay.”

“Understood,” Steve replies, nodding. Tony’s finger, prodding at the band is sending jolts of pleasure through him, and he pushes his hips forward, almost unintentionally, but Tony’s fingers withdrawn, coming up to rest, palm flat against his midriff.

“You are always a revelation,” Tony tells him, and there is something way too honest in his eyes and Steve has to look away. “Now, let’s get you settled down so we can give this baby a test run, shall we?”

He guides Steve down onto the sofa cushions, and arranges him to his satisfaction before stepping back to admire his handiwork. Steve lets himself be adjusted and splayed into place, watching Tony carefully the whole time. He has no idea what is about to happen next, and the thought is simultaneously arousing and terrifying. His throat is dry again, and the look on Tony’s face of careful consideration does nothing to stop his blood from pounding through his veins.

“I want to try something different,” Tony says carefully, dropping down to his knees between where he’s spread Steve’s legs - splayed him out in a lewd display, his cock jutting out, the band of black getting tighter around it as it swells. “Tell me, Captain, when was the last time someone sucked your cock?”

Tony’s eyes are almost black, the pupils blown so large, as he looks up Steve’s body and into his eyes, and Steve’s heart and cock both leap at the words. His erection twitching so hard that it slaps against his stomach.

“Oh, you like that idea?” Tony’s hands come to rest, hot and heavy on Steve’s thighs, sliding up little by little, and it’s like they’re spreading him even wider as they edge up towards his crotch. “So when did someone last wrap their lips around your beautiful cock, darling?”

Steve opens his mouth, because the answer to that is never. Jan had offered, once, but only once. After she’d seen how quickly he finished, she hadn’t offered again.

Tony pulls out the square of a condom packet and rips it open, and Steve tells himself not to react as the latex is rolled down over his penis. His breaths are deep shudders as he shuts his eyes tight, desperate to hold on. If he doesn’t hold on then Tony won’t, and he doesn’t question that right now, can’t question how much he wants what Tony is offering right now. There is an icy splinter deep inside him that feels a little sick at the thought, but the rest of him is eager for it.

“Safe sex, darling,” Tony says. “Protection is sexy…” his grin is a bit lopsided. “Also this should dull the sensations a little more, so everything isn’t quite as intense.” He winks and Steve feels himself relax a bit, tension he hadn’t been aware he was holding in his shoulders lessening a little. There is a plan, he can see it taking shape now. He’s still worried that he’s going to come as soon as Tony touches him with his mouth, but Tony has thought of that, has put things in place to help Steve cope.

He has a sudden, bizarre urge to reach out and pull Tony to him, so he can kiss the curve of his self-satisfied grin. It is a flash-in-the-pan thought, here and then gone, and he pushes it away as far as he can. That is not what he is here for. This is training it isn’t… personal.

“Now, we’re going to try edging again as well,” Tony says. “So when you feel like you’re getting close, tap me on the shoulder or tug on my hair and I’ll stop so you can relax a bit. Understood?”

Steve nods.

“You still haven’t told me when you last did this,” Tony says, leaning in, his blue eyes looking up at Steve. But Steve doesn’t answer, just holds his gaze, unable to make the words come out. Tony’s face shifts, becomes a little more gentle again and Steve feels a surge of warmth in him, because Tony isn’t going to make him say it. “Right, then I guess it’s up to me to make this amazing,” he says. “You’re going to love it, sweetheart. I have rave reviews.”

Steve wants to say something cutting - something to sever this strange warmth he’s feeling in his chest - and pull away, but before he can get his mouth to shape a retort, Tony is leaning down and has his lips around Steve’s cock, holding the head of it in his mouth.

The heat of it is intense. Steve’s head thuds back into the upholstery, his eyes shut tight. Everything in him is narrowed down to that one point, the warmth and the sensation of Tony’s lips and.. Oh god, his tongue just darting around the tip, delicate and light, just like his fingers had been against Steve’s skin. Tony’s hands are still kneading into the meat of Steve’s thighs and he makes a noise like he’s enjoying a really good meal, a noise that Steve can feel.

He’d imagined this, imagined someone doing this for him a hundred times before, in those dark, 2am moments, where the shadows make everything seem possible, but it had never been like this. It had never been so connected. Tony’s mouth sinks down around him, one hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock, right over the cock ring, not moving, just holding him firmly while his tongue undulates against him and Steve has to reach out and tap at him. He’s already so close.

Tony pulls back immediately, grinning like the cat that got the cream, and Steve whimpers at the loss of that connection, at the feeling of being so close to another human being.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away,” Tony says, although the smile on his face doesn’t seem sorry at all. “Breathe for me, darling. That’s right.” Steve breathes in deeply, struggling to keep himself from reaching down to grab at his erection. But that would invalidate this whole thing. “Tell me when you’re ready to go again.” Steve nods. “You look so delicious like this,” Tony tells him, leaning down to place an open mouthed kiss to the inside of Steve’s thigh, making the soft skin there feel on fire. “I find it difficult to hold myself back.”

“You… enjoy it?” Steve asks.

“What? Having you here, spread out in front of me?” Tony asks.

“No,” Steve says, although that as well, he supposes. “I mean… using your mouth… like that. You enjoy that?”

“Do I enjoy sucking cock?” Tony asks, sounding amused by the question. “Oh yes. One of my very favourite things.” His fingers pet at Steve’s knee. “I’m a cockslut, dearest, and proud of it. This is no hardship, believe me. And you have a gorgeous cock.”

Steve looks at him, but can’t see any lie on his face, and no shame either, no comprehension of how his admission might make him look, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Tony has always been shameless, he might as well be shameless in this as well.

“I don’t have much to compare it to,” Steve says, “But you’re very good.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Tony tells him, grinning wide so Steve can see all his white teeth. “And when I enjoy something, you know how dedicated I can be.”

Steve does. Tony seems to only have two settings, elegant disdain and utter dedication. There is no in between. As a hedonist it makes sense that sex would be something he dedicated time to, although Steve would always have assumed - a wealthy, powerful man like thim would be the one on the receiving end of the suck job, not the other way around. But it appears that he is mistaken.

“I think I’m ready,” he says and Tony smirks.

“OK,” he tells him, then he reaches for Steve’s hand where it lies on the sofa and puts it against his head. “You can hold on, if you like, darling. I like a little hair pulling. Just not too tight, okay?” Steve nods.

And Tony dives back in. This time, rather than going straight to wrapping his lips around the end, he ducks his head to one side and mouths his way up one side of Steve’s cock and down the other, trailing after his lips with his fingers. Steve’s own fingers tighten in his hair, winning him a happy moan.

Tony swipes his tongue over the head and then lowers himself again, taking just a little, then pulling back, then lowering his head a little more and pulling back, tightening his lips as he pulls up. Steve’s hips try to find a rhythm, pushing up as Tony’ lowers his mouth, pulling back as he pulls back. The movement comes naturally, thoughtlessly.

But as the pleasure swiftly rises, Steve thrusts up only to find nothing there.

“Easy, dear, easy,” Tony says, stroking at Steve’s abs, almost apologetically. “Not yet, darling. Not yet.”

Steve looks down at him. The arousal is hot and tight in his abdomen, his cock is so hard, throbbing with it, and he feels like every inch of him is on fire with it as Tony soothes him.

“Tell me about your day,” Tony instructs. Steve just stares at him blankly for a moment, his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes brighter than Steve has ever seen them before, his cheeks are flushed and his dark hair sticks to his forehead, but he is asking…

“Not much to tell,” Steve grinds out as the words finally make sense to him. He can’t draw his eyes away from Tony’s lips. Those lips had been stretched around his cock. He feels it jump at the thought.

“Tell me about it anyway, darling. Take your mind off it, remember,” Tony smiles, a wicked little thing. “Right to the edge then we pull you back. It’s all part of the training.”

That’s right. The training. That’s why they are here. He has to concentrate on something else.

“You were there,” Steve says. “There was the battle.”

“And before the battle, what does Captain America do on his down time?” Tony asks.

Steve looks at him, his erection still standing between them, nowhere near gone, and he starts to describe the mundanities of his morning. Tony listens, as though they hadn’t just been having sex, as though Steve can’t still feel the tight pressure of the cock ring around his cock and balls, and the throbbing of his blood around it. They make small talk, with Tony still on his knees, his mouth still wet with his own saliva from where he had been hungrily sucking down Steve’s cock.

Steve doesn’t know how long they talk for, it feels like hours, like every word takes an age to say, but finally Tony leans in, smiling his sharp little grin and he blows gently over Steve’s erection, cooling the saliva on the condom, and the sensation makes Steve thrust up again without thinking. Thought rapidly disappears again. He barely has room for anything other than Tony, sitting watching him.

“Please,” Steve forces out, his throat clenching around the word.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Tony says, and he lowers his head again, sudden and deep, taking so much of Steve in, Steve can’t even tell how it fits. He almost comes, can feel it so close, but just held back by that tight ring of elastic. It makes him growl in frustration. He can feel what must be Tony’s throat around him, swallowing, and Tony’s tongue still moving against the underside, slow strokes, and the tight firm seal of Tony’s lips.

“Please,” he says again, staring down, and Tony sucks, and swallows around him. Steve pulls with his hand, trying to push himself further in and Tony takes him deeper. It feels like nothing Steve’s ever felt before. He can’t describe it. Even his times with Gail and Jan hadn’t felt like this. That had been perfunctory, almost awkward, with him never sure where to put himself, or how to move, hyper aware of the other body with him. But he doesn’t have to worry about that here. Tony knows what he’s doing, he’s taking care of all the how, and all Steve has to do is ride it out.

Then it stops again. Steve is aware of his own heavy breathing filling the air, his chest heaving with it as he stares desperately at the ceiling, holding a whine behind gritted teeth.

“Breathe, darling,” Tony reminds him, and the breath explodes from his mouth.

Steve hates how needy he sounds in that moment, how helpless his breaths are, how his eyes are pulled down to Tony without him giving them leave. They look at each other.

Then Tony keeps looking at him, staring him right in the eye as he ducks his head down again. He’s looking up through his eyelashes as his lips slowly lower around Steve’s erection, warmth and heat and everything Steve wants.

He can’t stop his hips from thrusting up, and Tony gives this short, cut off moan, choked off by the thick mass of Steve’s cock filling his mouth.

It’s the sound that does it, and Steve feels everything snap. Tony’s still looking right at him as the pleasure rises and finally, finally peaks.

He pushes his cock up into the wet heat of Tony’s mouth and feels it pulse as he comes and comes, like it’s erupting out of him, the relief of his release flooding him, sending him floating on that strange lightness that Tony seems able to make him reach.

As he comes down from the heights of it, he realises that Tony has pulled off and is clutching at his cheek.

“Wh… what?” Steve asks. And Tony leans to one side to pick something up. Steve’s foggy brain takes a moment to recognise it as the cock ring.

“Apparently their rigorous testing doesn’t stand up to the force of human perfection,” Tony says with a sly smile. “Looks like you snapped it clean off… hit my cheek on the way.”

Steve stares, guilt and shame washing over him in horror as he looks at it. What does it say about him that he’s so… wanton that he could break right through such a thing.

“Hey, no” Tony says, smiling at him, and rubbing a hand over Steve’s sweat-slick thigh. “Nothing to worry about, definitely not. I can honestly say I have never seen anything hotter than you so far gone that you broke a cock ring to come in my mouth. Delicious.” He smiles slow and sensual. “I’m going to be appreciating that image for a long time.”

The tightness in Steve’s chest returns and he crosses his arms over himself, feeling suddenly overexposed and raw.

Tony’s hand continues to stroke at his thigh in long, soothing sweeps.

“Shhhh, darling,” he says, although Steve isn’t saying anything. “It’s good… I really enjoyed that, did you?”

Steve debates saying ‘no’. He could do it, could outright lie and tear out of this place as quickly as he could. He doesn’t need this.

He tells himself he doesn’t need this.

But Tony is looking at him and Steve can’t bring himself to lie.

“Yes,” he says instead. There are more words, better words that describe the revelation that just occurred inside his body, but they are tied up inside him, unable to reach his mouth, so he keeps them instead, hoarding the moment greedily.

That is what it’s like, he thinks. It’s like that, and sensation and images all roll together into one vivid memory. A memory the serum will keep bright and sharp.

“Glad to hear it,” Tony says with a wink… “But it doesn’t look like you’re quite done yet.” He looks down and Steve looks down and his cock’s still standing proud. “And isn’t that a delightful surprise!” Tony sounds genuinely happy about it, looks like someone just presented him with a bottle of scotch, like this extra abnormality of Steve’s is something especially for him to enjoy.

Fingers peel off the old condom, tie it up and throw it away, before they’re pulling out another one.

“Colour, honey?” Tony asks.

“Green,” Steve replies, watching the shiny square packet as Tony waves it around.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Tony says, ripping the packet open and leaning forwards to roll the condom on. “Other things I like to hear are ‘Tony’, ‘Yes’ and ‘please’,” he adds. “Just in case you run out of words.”

“Get on with it, Stark,” Steve grinds out, his voice rough.

“Yes Captain,” Tony says with a wink, then he’s ducking his head down again and Steve has to fist his hands into the upholstery to keep himself under control.

It begins again, the sweeps of Tony’s tongue, then the sudden loss. Rising pleasure cut short every time. Tony is playing with him, pushing him as far as he can, then pulling back.

Steve chases him with his hips every time, but Tony just leans further away, smiling in satisfaction as Steve’s hips hump the air in desperation. Then, a few minutes later, he’ll descend again.

They set a rhythm again, Steve fucking into Tony’s mouth, a little desperate now, and he can feel his orgasm just out of his reach, but he knows if he just… just a little more.

Then the sensation is gone and Steve cries out with the loss of it, his orgasm receding back again, falling away.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Tony’s voice is saying. “So well. Look at you. It’s been so long and you’re still so hard for me.” His hands are rubbing circles into Steve’s thighs. “Just look at you.”

Steve reaches blindly for Tony, unable to open his eyes, and his hand is grasped and pulled up to Tony’s face, where a kiss is placed into the palm.

“It’s alright, honey. You’re alright. I’m right here,” Tony says, and Steve lets himself relax again. Tony is here. Tony knows what he is doing and he won’t let Steve fall.

“Do you think you can tell me what your colour is right now?” Tony asks, his voice gentle.

Steve considers the way he feels, the floating, light sensation in his head, the tingle of his body, lit up like a Christmas tree, still feeling all shaky with pleasure, like the aftermath of an orgasm he hasn’t had. He’s sensitive and raw with need, but there is no fear or pain, no discomfort, even from the throbbing in his groin. Everything feels wonderful.

“Green,” he says, his words a slur and Tony pats his thigh gently.

“Good, I’m glad,” Tony says. “Do you want to come now, or do you want me to stop again?” Tony asks. Steve’s brain fuzzes up a bit in confusion, because he wants both. He wants to come, needs to come. It is a slow burning ember in the pit of his stomach, the climax he can feel waiting there, but he wants to wait as well… There’s no cock ring this time. He’s managed to come this far without it. It feels like a challenge, to go as long as he can.

“You’ve done more than enough for today,” Tony tells him. “You’ve been amazing,” he says. The praise fills Steve up like bubbles, lifting him from the inside. “You’ve been so good for me. You can come now, if you want.”

Steve nods.

“Use your words, darling,” Tony says. “Remember how I like to hear you say it.” Steve flushes, he can feel the heat in his cheeks at the idea of saying it out loud. “Don’t be bashful now…”

“I want to come,” Steve says, the words a little too rough in his throat.

“Alright then,” Tony says, licking his lips. “In that case, I want you to fuck my throat, darling. Just fuck my throat until you come.” He reaches out his hands one to Steve’s hip, the other to the base of Steve’s cock, guiding it towards his mouth. “Take what you need.”

The words send a flood of arousal flashing through Steve’s body and he can’t keep himself from doing just that. Tony’s mouth is perfect and hot, opening for him and Steve is so far gone now, there’s nothing he can do to hold back, his hips snapping forward as his cock slips further and further in. The pace he sets is fast and furious, but it’s barely three thrusts into that welcoming suction of Tony’s mouth before he’s gasping out Tony’s name and coming once more, emptying himself with half a sob as everything seems to rush out of him, the tension in every limb relaxing as he falls back, his body twitching and aching with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

His brain is a warm buzz of white noise as he’s dimly aware of the condom being pulled off and his body being wiped down with soft, almost tender strokes. It feels good, even as he flinches when the rough towel swipes over the more tender parts of his skin.

Tony is murmuring things in amongst the haze of it all, and the words are irrelevant, but the gentle tone is everything. It soothes Steve back down as his eyes close and all the energy in him is gone and he sinks into sleep.

When he wakes up, a tray of snacks and a large glass of water are sitting on the small table next to him, and Tony is nowhere to be found. Steve’s clothes are pressed and folded waiting for him, though, and Steve can’t help but flush with embarrassment at what Tony’s servants must think.

He dresses quickly and shows himself out, grateful to the chilly air outside that brings him crashing down to earth.

*

Steve isn’t strong enough to stay away, so it continues. There is no schedule to it, or any system, but some days he just… needs to see Tony. He tries to stay away as long as possible, but he can never manage more than a few days, a week is the longest he manages, and that is mostly because Tony was on a business trip.

He shows up and they do more training. Tony finds stronger cock rings, ones that even Steve can’t snap, and their sessions get longer. Tony brings out an origami set, one memorable afternoon, and has Steve folding tigers as his erection throbs beneath the table, weeping with precome whenever their arms brush against each other.

He craves it and… against his better judgement, Stark is growing on him. The conversations they have between the… training sessions… are enlightening and they are approaching something near to friendship.

Some nights it feels like too much as he lies in his bed staring at the plain white of his ceiling with those little cracks in the plaster that he sometimes thinks are getting bigger. It feels overwhelming how far he has gone, how lost he feels in those moments. He has wandered into the darkness and he doesn’t see a way back, doesn’t know if he wants to find a way back.

The simplest times are when he is with Tony, when Tony takes control and Steve’s mind occasionally reaches a place where it just… stops. Everything floats away and all he needs to do is feel, when Tony sometimes winds his fingers into the strands of Steve’s hair and rubs his scalp with sure, elegant fingers and the worries and the tension and the darkness just bleed away into nothing, leaving only the warm glow of pleasure.

In the quiet of his apartment, sometimes he furtively seeks out more videos, always with his headphones on, afraid of how thin the apartment walls are, and he always feels that strange, lurch of fear and arousal as he looks at them, as he clicks on the thumbnail that looks the best and hears the muffled sound of his zipper as he pulls it down.

If the videos he goes for tend to feature lithe, dark-haired men, he tries not to think about it.

And if he always hears Tony’s voice in his head after he drags his hand away from his erection, praising him for being so good for him, then he swallows that down into the selfish parts of himself and holds onto it.

*

If they have a system, it is this: Steve goes to Tony, Tony helps him. There is no fixed schedule, no set dates. Sometimes one or other of them will suggest meeting up later, but that is the extent of the planning they do.

But it is always Steve that ends up at Tony’s home, which is why when he answers his apartment door to find Tony on the other side of it, he is startled.

“May I come in?” Tony asks and Steve steps aside.

Tony is all movement, pacing around, his hands twitching. Steve wonders if the reason he usually has a drink in one of them is just so they will stay still. He’s a whirlwind of motion in the middle of Steve’s usually still room.

“I hope you don’t mind darling, but I really felt the need to see if you were up for some training…” Tony says. “If you’re not, it’s fine.”

Steve tries to pretend that his body isn’t already responding to the suggestion, like Tony has programmed some sort of pavlovian response into him.

“No, that would be… good,” Steve tells him and Tony’s movement finally slows, changing into something more deliberate as he turns back towards Steve.

“Great,” Tony says. “In that case, where do you want to do this?”

Steve swallows as he leads Tony through to his bedroom. They have never done this on a bed before, but his sofa is small and cramped and he can’t imagine sitting on it again, knowing what they’ve done.

Tony is thorough today, systematic. He strips Steve himself, piece by piece, running his fingers over every inch of skin he uncovers, then he takes him apart with single minded dedication. It seems that he is using everything he has learnt and Steve is brought to the edge, gasping and desperate, more quickly than he has been in weeks, and then… nothing.

Tony, still fully dressed, steps away and smooths out his clothes, unrolling his shirt sleeves and redoing the cuffs.

Steve, half-dazed, watches him, his mouth forming words he doesn’t know.

“Get dressed, darling,” Tony says, as though he hadn’t just been sucking eagerly at Steve’s inner thigh, leaving bruises and beard burn that will fade too quickly. “We’re going out.”

“Out?” Steve asks stupidly. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“I thought a trip to the park might be good,” he says. “It’s a nice day. Some fresh air will do you good.”

Steve blinks, slowly, his brain not quite fast enough to keep up.

“We’re going out,” he says, looking down his body, covered in the shape of Tony’s mouth, erection still bobbing, unsatisfied, between his legs. “Like this.”

“Well, I would put some clothes on, or you might cause quite the scandal, but yes… that was the idea.” Tony’s smile is wicked. “Colour?” he asks

Steve feels the flush of it across him, and wonders how Tony knew this. How did he realise that this was one of Steve’s shames?

But the idea of it, walking around outside with no one knowing what they’ve been doing. Seeing people around them, maybe smiling at them, and nobody realising.

“Green,” he says, his breath quick and eager in his chest. He stands up, get dressed, biting at his lip as fabric rubs over too-sensitive skin.

Tony’s hands find his shoulders, massaging lightly. The sensation too gentle and too muffled by material to push Steve over.

“Good,” he whispers. “You’re doing so well.”

Luckily, Steve finds his erection subsides a bit as they step outside and Tony leads him to the park.

They just… talk, and Steve finds the hum of his arousal fades into a delicious background noise, only rising every now and then, when Tony brushes his fingers over the back of Steve’s hand, or when he steps a bit too far and his cock rubs against the fabric of his underwear with a bit too much friction.

“Why?” he asks eventually, as they come to sit on a bench and watch the world go by.

“Why what?” Tony asks, looking at him.

“Why did you… need to see me?” Steve asks, his eyes darting around, although he knows he is not saying anything incriminating. And even if he did, in this strange future, no one could do anything about it, anyway.

Tony sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“I shouldn’t have,” he says, looking around at anything but Steve. “It has been a rather regrettable sort of a day. And it involved Greg. Nothing good ever came of anything involving Greg. I made some bad decisions and I needed something that I knew I could do right.”

“So you came to see me,” Steve says, feeling strangely light at the idea. He likes that he was where Tony went.

“You…” Tony looks at him finally, his blue eyes narrow and earnest in a way Tony seldom is. “You’re not simple… far from simple. But making you happy, that’s good. That’s a good thing that I can do.”

Steve doesn’t really have anything to say to that. It feels like a confession of something, but he doesn’t know what. He just nods.

“Glad to help,” he says and Tony laughs.

“Oh, darling, You are priceless.”

Steve scowls at the mockery, but Tony reaches out a hand to rest on his shoulder and it pulls him back a bit. One of Tony’s fingers just grazes the skin at the bottom of Steve’s neck, rubbing very slightly, but it’s enough to bring it all back, setting the nerves of Steve’s skin on fire with it.

He doesn't know how he manages to make it back to his apartment, Tony always seems to be touching him, seemingly accidental little touches, grazes across his body that should not send shivers up his spine, but they do, every time. Steve has to walk with a hunch to hide the bulge of his cock in his pants, his erection brought back even more with every single brush of Tony’ fingers.

As soon as the door is closed, they stumble together and Tony doesn’t even bother getting him undressed, just pushes his thigh between Steve’s legs, letting him rut at it, almost mindlessly, whispering encouragement and praise in his ear as Steve lets go.

He comes in his pants and Tony brushes his hair back.

“Are you feeling better?” Steve asks. Tony smiles at him.

“Are you?”

“Yes.” Steve breathes, leaning back against the wall in case his shaky legs give out under him.

“Good.” Tony mirrors him on the other side of the door. “You were perfect, darling. Just what I needed.”

Steve feels a little bubble of pleasure inside him at that. He’d helped.

*

The Ultimates are wheeled out for another charity event, like the prized ponies that they are. Steve grits his teeth and bears it, because they need funding and he’s personally been reprimanded seven times for not playing nice with the paying public. Apparently when people pay ten grand a ticket they expect that Captain America will smile sweetly and go along with whatever they say.

It’s a sick carnival freakshow, is what it is. And they’re the freaks.

Perhaps it’s all the time that Steve’s been spending with him recently, or perhaps it’s just how tired Tony is, but Steve can see some cracks in his façade tonight. There’s an edge of strain at the corners of his eyes and his mouth pulls up with a little too much savagery for a real smile.

Although, how can Steve ever be sure if he’s seen the man’s real smile.

But sometimes, in the softer moments, when everything’s quiet and still, he thinks that maybe there’s more honesty to Tony then than Steve believed him capable of.

Here and now, there is only a brittle mask that is being rapidly chipped away. Steve is not proud of the thrill of gladness he feels at seeing someone else who is as out of sorts here as he is, especially if that person is Tony, who never looks out of sorts anywhere. It is a vicious, petty feeling that leaves shame in its wake.

He downs his drink and strides over, not really sure what he is doing, but aware of the obligations he has towards a team mate and… the duty he feels towards a friend.

“Captain!” one of the women crowding Tony crows as soon as she sees him, leaning in to press her breasts into his arm as she kisses his cheek. “What a pleasure to see you! And now we have two of the ultimates.”

The others around them titter brainlessly as though that is some sort of joke.

“I thought I’d come to check that Tony wasn’t causing too much trouble,” he says. He tries to sound as though he is joking, but it comes out too severe, he can tell in the microscopic flinch that spasms across Tony’s features.

“Oh, there's no need to worry about him,” the lady says, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s well taken care of over here, I assure you,” she smirks at him, fiddling with her necklace in a way that is clearly meant to draw attention to the perfect line of her cleavage. “But who’s been taking care of you, Captain?” There’s a lilt to her voice that makes it clear what she means, and Steve knows he should be interested. She is beautiful, certainly rich, the kind of dame that a soldier would dream of out on the front lines, keep her picture in his pocket and brag to all the guys about how swell she was.

Steve looks at her and feels nothing. There’s nothing there. It’s like falling into nothingness, because he’s tried. He’s tried to be normal. Tried to feel how he’s supposed to feel, and he’s so tired of pretending. Pretending that women like this come to his mind when he’s alone, that he feels how he’s supposed to feel when he sees the cut of her dress and the red of her lips. But he can’t anymore. He… just can’t. He’s beyond the point of no return and he’s lost any hope of going back.

The conversation drifts on, picking up where Steve abandoned it, and eventually the partygoers move on, the woman still darting Steve glances from under her eyelashes, but all Steve can think of is Tony looking up from between his legs, and her attempts at flirting pale in comparison.

“She’s definitely interested,” Tony says, taking a sip of his drink. “I mean, who isn’t. I think you could probably pull anyone in this room if you gave them a wink and a nod, but I can say with 100% certainty that she would blow you in one of the side rooms if you wanted.”

“I don’t think that would end well,” Steve says. “And I don’t think discussing it is appropriate, Stark.”

“If you’re worried about… you know,” Tony says, lowering his voice, “I don’t think you have any reason to. You’re doing well, young padawan. Time to take off the training wheels.”

“Must you make everything so…”

“Tawdry?” Tony suggests.

“Flippant,” Steve hisses. “Why is everything a joke to you?” he asks. And he has to wonder, is he a joke, too? Great Captain America, and Tony Stark can get him to beg like a dog.

“The world’s a hot mess, darling, getting hotter by the minute. Death is certain, life is brutal and if you can’t see the funny side of that, then I’m afraid you’re not looking hard enough,” Tony says, his voice is calculated to shock, sour and snide and everything Steve has ever hated about him. Steve can’t take it.

“In my experience the only people who find humour in other people’s misfortune are bullies,” he spits out, a little louder than he intends. People are looking at them.

“Smile, dearheart,” Tony says, his own smile a parody of a thing. “Remember that we’re on display. Can’t have it getting out that we’re having a lover’s tiff. That sort of thing doesn’t play well with the demographics.”

“We are not… “ Steve grits his teeth and straightens up, trying to school his face into something approaching reasonable, but he knows it doesn’t happen. “I need some air,” he says, barely able to get the words out past the gall in his throat. He strides off before Tony can say anything more, tries to restrain his anger into the swing of his arms and the careful steps of his legs. He can never afford to let it out, these days. If he steps too hard he might crack the floor tiles, if he pushes past someone too aggressively, he might break them. Control. He needs to find control again before he loses it all in front of everyone and everyone realises that Captain America…

He pushes through the nearest door and stalks along the corridor until the music and conversation are muted to a dull murmur. He puts his hands against the wall careful as he can, with his palms flat, and feels the cool surface underneath them, smooth and lifeless. He concentrates on his breathing, savage and rough as it is, trying to get it under control. He just needs a moment, a minute or two, to get himself back under control. Just a couple of minutes to find some semblance of calm.

But it seems Steve is never going to get that.

There are footsteps and Steve doesn’t even need to look up to know whose they are, he can tell from the gait, from the firm, steady rhythm of them.

“Running off wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“If I’d stayed out there any longer I would have punched something,” Steve says, and Tony steps a little closer. He doesn’t understand why he’s so lost all of a sudden. He has been to these things before, he has made nice and shaken hands. He’s rubbed shoulders with actors and billionaires and celebrities who are famous because they’re famous. He shouldn’t be so confused and wound up just from a couple of hours and some snide comments from Tony. This is nothing new, so why is it so difficult to handle?

“Darling, I know you hate these things, but we’re expected… I can make your excuses if you-”

Whatever narrow thread has been holding Steve back snaps. Something about that suggestion, that Tony could… help him? Cover for him? He can’t tell why, but it makes the anger come again, rising up his throat and he whirls on the spot.

Tony is not small, but sometimes, these days, he looks almost frail. Besides Steve, he looks like he has been shrunken down. And Steve uses that, towers over him and stares down. Tony doesn’t look away, just takes another sip of his drink.

“Are we having temper tantrums now?” Tony asks.

Steve seizes the glass from his hand and hurls it down the corridor. The tinkling crash rings out like a bell.

“That was very good whisky,” Tony says, seemingly unconcerned. Steve longs to break that practised nonchalance he holds around him like his second armour. He pushes forwards until they are toe to toe, Steve looking down at Tony, his hands balled into fists.

Tony looks up at him, steady and calm.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks. “Someone’s going to have to clean that up, you know.”

Steve growls in frustration and reaches out. He doesn’t know what his hands are doing until he pivots them both until Tony’s back is against the wall.

“Can you just be serious, for once?” he asks.

“I am being serious,” Tony says. “That’s a hazard, and someone’s going to have to clean it up.”

“Shut up!” Steve says. Tony stares up at him and raises an eyebrow. But the silence that follows isn’t what he wants either. Steve doesn’t know what he wants. He steps forwards, even closer into Tony’s space, pinning him to the wall with his bulk.

Tony rearranges himself and his thigh brushes against Steve’s crotch, bringing to both of their attention that Steve is embarrassing himself again.

“Oh,” Tony says, looking down. Steve freezes in place. But Tony doesn’t. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes his weight forwards, right into Steve, so their bodies press together, so his thigh and his hip slide slowly across Steve’s erection, rubbing the fabric over it in a leisurely, torturous motion. Steve swallows, feeling the bob of his throat and watching the smile spreading over Tony’s face with growing horror. “Oh,” Tony repeats. “So this is it. I should have guessed.”

Steve makes a noise, halfway between a groan and a plea, and Tony’s still right there, heat pressing against him, every part of him, and not moving. Just a firm, hard, hot presence that Steve wants to push back against.

“If this is what you wanted, darling,” Tony says. “All you had to do is ask.” And he rolls his hips again, languid and liquid. He moves like sin made of silk and Steve can’t control his voice or his hips as he groans and thrusts back, the friction sending delicious frissons of sensation through him, tingling up his spine and gathering in his stomach. “That’s right,” Tony breathes. “Show me how much you need it, darling.”

Steve wants to tear himself away, but he can’t. He just pushes himself back into Tony, his head dropping down to the cradle of Tony’s shoulder. His breaths are ragged and torn from his throat. He can feel the press of Tony’s own erection against him, pushing back in mirror image to his own. The feeling should concern him, but it doesn’t. All he feels in response is another flush of arousal washing over him.

Tony’s hand finds his ass, pushes them together harder and Steve can’t even think, the sudden shock of pleasure is too much. It rewrites his brain, sends sparks across his vision and his hips move faster, plunging forward.

“Oh yes, love, that’s right… look at you,” Tony’s panting into his ear. “You’re so beautiful like this. So eager for me, so desperate for it.”

Steve whines, high in his throat. It’s a sound he never thought himself capable of making. Later, he will be ashamed of himself. Later, he will crumble under this memory. But now he cannot bring himself to care. All that exists is the heat of Tony’s body, the friction as they rub together and the sound of Tony’s voice muttering obscenities right into his ear.

“Going to come in your pants and you can’t even help yourself,” Tony’s saying. “Just rubbing off against my leg. Couldn’t even find a room before you lost yourself to it. What would they say if they saw you like this, darling? If they saw what an eager little slut you are for me.”

Steve’s voice cracks as he moans again, the words filling up his head. He pushes his face even further into the crook of Tony’s neck, in a vain attempt to hide from them.

“Colour, Steve,” Tony says then. The words are meaningless as Steve keeps thrusting into the firm muscles of Tony’s thigh. A hand finds the back of his head, winds into the hair there and tugs his head back. “Colour,” Tony demands.

“Green,” Steve finds himself saying, knowing it’s true.

“Hey, Tony! Ste-”

Clint’s voice is like a bowl of ice water splashing over him and Steve freezes. Somewhere behind him, he can hear Clint freeze too, Tony’s eyes are wide and blue.

“Holy shit,” Clint says and there is a rustle of movement behind them. “I’m not looking, fuck I did not need to see that. I’m just… People are looking for you. So maybe dry humping in the corridor isn’t the best idea? Just… let’s never talk about this again. Fuck…” And then there are quick footsteps moving away.

Tony and Steve look at each other. Steve’s hips push forwards automatically, but Tony’s hands are pushing him away and Steve lets them, stepping back. His erection still tents his pants, his breath is still fast and shallow, his heartbeat thudding so loudly he feels like he’s vibrating with it.

“We can find a room,” he hears himself saying.

“No,” Tony says clearly. “Stop.” He looks at Steve. “You don’t get to come tonight, darling.”

“I…”

“No,” Tony says clearly again. His voice is firm, authoritative, and Steve feels his cock twitch at the sound of it. Then he pauses. “Are you… Is that… Colour?”

“Green,” Steve says, almost automatically, because he’s out of control and that’s… Tony’s giving him something to control. It feels like things slip back into place.

“Good… good,” Tony says, smoothing himself down and straightening his tie. “Not tonight. I’m sure you can control yourself, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve agrees. He swallows helplessly.

“Now, go to the bathroom, clean yourself up. People don’t want to see Captain America looking like a teenager who just saw his first porn.” Steve nods, looking down at himself and flushing with embarrassment at the sight he must make. Tony’s right, this is not appropriate. He’ll have to… he’ll work it out. He nods again, determined to do what needs to be done.

As he’s walking away Tony calls out to him and Steve looks back.

“Just so you know, Captain,” Tony says. “I wasn’t laughing at the misfortune of others. There’s no need, when it’s far simpler just to laugh at my own.”

Steve can’t think of anything to say to that, so he just walks away, the words tumbling in his mind.

*

They don’t speak.

Something about that night was too raw, too intimate. Steve’s not sure where he can go from there. The thing he remembers, though he had been too caught up at the time to really notice it, is the feeling of Tony’s erection pressing into his thigh, rubbing slowly against him, then faster. He should be disgusted at the memory, but that’s not what he feels. There’s the strange sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it’s not disgust.

But it’s not the sexual intimacy he misses, well, not just. He finds himself missing Tony’s commentary on the world. He’s missing the times in between, when Tony and he would talk, or sit, or walk through the park. He misses having someone to talk to, or eat dinner with. Meals are quiet and lonely on his own, and he wonders what the point in even cooking is as he stands over the stove and boils the vegetables for his dinner. 

He realises that he has no reason to call Tony, not really. He cannot say ‘I just wanted to talk to you’ without that seeming strange. Their relationship revolves around the sex, and he’s never taken it away from that. The conversations were all sandwiched between orgasms. And he wants both back, but he doesn’t know how to get them. Doesn’t know if he should. His mind is a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Everything feels wrong now, but he had thought that what he was doing with Tony was wrong in the first place, so surely now everything should fall back into place and the world should fit itself together again.

But instead, everything feels like it doesn’t fit anymore.

He ends up at Bucky and Gail’s place, sitting in the back garden with a beer in his hand - though it has no effect on him - listening to Bucky talk about the plants. It’s relaxing, letting the words filter past him.

Of course, Bucky doesn’t let him get away with it for long. He waits just long enough for Steve to relax before he springs the question.

“So why are you here, listening to me ramble on about the rhododendron?” he asks. Steve turns away to look at the plant in question. Bucky is right, he’s probably killed it. It’s leaves are wilting and the flowers are shrivelled brown. “You’ve got a face on you says you need to talk.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

“You sound like one of my kids when they were teenagers. Any time we asked a question it was always ‘I’m fine!’, like we’d insulted them by implying otherwise. You’ve been easier recently, more comfortable in yourself and… in this time, I guess.” Steve turns back to see Bucky watching him, the expression of shrewd assessment still familiar even under the grey hair and wrinkles. “Gail and I were glad to see it. We’ve been worried.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Steve says immediately. Bucky waves him off.

“You don’t get to tell me what to worry about anymore, Steve,” he says, grinning a wide smile. “You’re not my CO, these days. You’re my friend, and what are friends for?”

Steve sighs and gulps down some more beer.

“We ain’t gonna turn on you, Steve, no matter what,” Bucky says. “Can’t say we’ll always be here, but as long as we are, we’re your friends.”

Steve feels his throat tighten at the reminder of his friends’ mortality, but he pushes past it.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Bucky tells him and Steve can’t hold in his laugh, bitter and broken. “I’m serious. You’re not perfect, but everyone makes mistakes. And no one as stubborn as you ever sat and let something fester when you could be doing something about it. So you can tell me or not tell me, but I know you’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“What…” Steve pauses. “You and Gail have been married a while.” To Bucky’s credit, he doesn’t even blink at the nonsequitur.

“Yeah, we’ve had a good run,” Bucky agrees, casting an adoring look back towards the house.

“I don’t…” Steve can’t find the words to say it. Can’t bring himself to tell Bucky that he’s queer. It’s a leaden lump in his throat. “How does that work?” he asks instead. “How do you make something like that work?”

It’s not the question he thought he wanted to ask.

Bucky frowns, but he doesn’t press, not like he would have back in the war. Back then, Bucky was too sharp for his own good. Age has brought a consideration to him that Steve is caught by every time. He looks thoughtful and a little surprised. Steve knows that’s because they tend to avoid talking about things like that. There is always the strange mess that is their tangled history hanging over them. Steve is… not over it, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to reconcile the things he’s lost. But he has accepted it. He sees them together, sees how they work and how they care for one another and he is happy that they have that. It doesn’t make talking about it any less awkward, though.

“It’s respect,” Bucky says. “And giving back. You know why I grow that rose bush in the corner?” he lifts his bottle to gesture at it, a gangly, brutal looking bush. “I hate the thing, the thorns stab me when I go anywhere near it, it needs water constantly and rose feed, and it still manages to look like I attacked it. But the roses it grows are Gail’s favourite shade of pink. She loves those roses. So I grow that bush and it makes her smile. And she does the same for me. There are a hundred things like that. She makes me happy, I make her happy.” He shrugs. “And the sex doesn’t exactly hurt either,” he smiles broadly again as Steve spits out his mouthful of beer.

“You make each other happy,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “But I reckon that’s just what you do when you love someone. You want them to be happy, so you do what you can to help them. And it’s not like it’s an exchange. There’s no debt or none of that nonsense. You don’t do it so they’ll return the favour. You just do it because that’s what you have to do, because you can’t be happy unless they’re happy. And you hope that maybe it’s the same for them.”

Steve looks down at the ground, rolling it around in his head.

“If it goes one way,” Bucky continues. “If it’s all about making one person happy and the other one gets left behind, where’s the good in that? That’s a broken sort of a relationship.” He shakes his head. “One person taking, the other giving all the time. It’s going to give out. They’ll run out of bits of themselves to give. There’s nothing sustainable about that. No way to make it last…

“But I’m rambling again. Probably not what you wanted to hear.”

“No,” Steve says softly. “It makes sense. Thank you.” 

“No problem,” Bucky tells him with a shrug.

Steve lets the conversation meander away again, back onto safer ground, but the words fly around in his brain. Even as he’s leaving Bucky and Gail’s house. Even as he’s lying in his bed, awake again, the ticking of the clock his only companion.

*

It takes a week before he ends up back on Tony’s doorstep, unable to stay away for long. The butler opens the door, his face as bland and non-judgemental as ever.

“Mr Stark will be with you shortly,” he says, leaving Steve alone in the elegantly furnished room.

Tony lets him stew, turns up ten minutes later in his full suit, buttoned right up, not a crease out of place. It’s as much armour as the Iron Man suit is and Steve wonders if he managed to break this thing that they have between them before he even knew what it was.

“Welcome back,” Tony says, sweeping his hands out to the sides. “What can I do for you today, Captain?”

Steve steps forwards, his heart beating double time in anticipation. He feels like everything has changed here, but he’s not going to back down on this. He can’t deny that it’s Tony he wants, he’s tried that and it hasn’t worked. So now he’s going to embrace it.

“I want you to make me come,” he says, his voice steady as a rock, though he can’t believe he’s saying the words. Tony’s eyes widen in surprise. “I was a soldier, Stark. I know how to say the words.”

“Well I always like a man who knows what he wants,” Tony says, and Steve wonders for a second, if that is a dig at him, but there’s nothing in Tony’s face to suggest that it is, so he lets himself forget it, let’s Tony step forwards and slide the jacket off his shoulders, reaching up to undo the buttons on Tony’s own jacket as he tries to step away.

“Uh… that’s not how we usually do it,” Tony says. Steve looks up.

“Colour?” he asks and Tony blinks back, startled. There is a strange rush to having Tony off balance.

“... green,” he says after a moment. “Why darling, what’s gotten into you?”

There are innuendoes Steve could say here, words that would make his intent clear, that might make Tony laugh. But he can’t do it. That’s not him, and this is not… he knows Tony now. This is not just training any more, and he’s not going to cheapen what he’s trying to do by making it something sordid.

Steve continues with what he’s doing instead, every article of clothing Tony strips from him, he returns the favour, until they’re both standing there in their underwear. Tony’s in some ridiculous red silk thing that barely covers anything at all.

Steve catches himself deliberately looking away and he forces himself to look, to take what he wants. He trails his eyes down the planes of Tony’s muscles, bronzed from the sun, not a white line in sight. There is dark hair across his chest, leading down to the line below his belly button, and down further to the elastic of that red silk.

He doesn’t have the body of a billionaire. He’s slender, but the muscles are definitely defined, cut from hard work and training - the real sort of training.

It’s strange to look at him like this, with no ulterior motive, just because. It’s strange to give himself permission to enjoy the view.

“Like what you see?” Tony asks. Steve wants to say ‘yes’, but the word sticks in his throat and he just nods quickly.

Tony’s expression softens again, like it often does when they’re like this. The tenderness returns and he reaches out to rest one hand over Steve’s heart.

“It’s okay, you can stop whenever you want.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. He looks Tony in the eye. “Do you?”

“Oh, darling. How could I stop when I have you like this?” Tony asks Then he pushes Steve back onto the sofa and runs his hands down his chest, over his nipples, which push up into sharp points at the contact, and down to the hem of Steve’s underwear. He tugs them down, freeing Steve’s erection which bobs into view, already red and thick, leaking with arousal.

“Look at that,” Tony says, his eyes hungry as it comes into view. “You really are perfect,” he mutters.

Steve opens his mouth to point out that Tony isn’t naked yet, but Tony’s hand is already wrapping around Steve’s shaft, pumping up and down in a way that sends all thoughts flying away and makes Steve’s back bow into a perfect curve, his head thrown back.

He loses track, after that, everything fades away into the sensations that Tony brings him, and it isn’t until Tony pulls away for the first time that he remembers.

“Come here,” he mumbles, voice thick with pleasure. Tony frowns at him from where he’s crouching. “Come here,” Steve repeats, raising a hand to beckon. Tony shuffles over a bit.

“What is it, dearest?” Tony asks. “What do you need? You can tell me.”

“You,” Steve says, reaching down. All thoughts of awkwardness are gone from his mind. “Need you.” And his fingers find soft red silk, wet with precome, and he fumbles them around the hard weight of Tony’s cock underneath the fabric as Tony gasps in surprise and pleasure, his body starting. “Colour?” he asks.

“Green,” Tony gasps out. “Green of course. Greener than you can believe. Oh god… Steve. Keep... “ He bucks into Steve’s hand, unable to control himself and Steve smiles and tightens his grip slightly, dragging his hand up the shaft. It is not much different, he thinks, than doing it to himself. The mechanics of it, at least. But the rest. Tony’s head lolls to one side, his mouth open and his chest heaving. He is a warm, weight in Steve’s hand, the skin soft underneath his fingertips, and he is vulnerable in a way Steve has never seen him.

There is a thrill of power here, but also Steve feels a sense of awe. He had never thought it would be like this. His past experience has been less… enthusiastic. There has never been this immediacy, never this pulsing arousal inside him. He feels like a door has opened and there is a whole world to explore before him. He puts his other hand against Tony’s neck, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath his skin. Tony leans back to look at him, his pupils are wide and dark, his lips parted and wet as he says Steve’s name.

He can touch, Steve realises, with a strange rush of disbelief. He can touch…

So he does, he pulls his hand from Tony’s erection and brings both his hands to Tony’s chest, outlining the plains of his muscles with tentative fingers. He is suddenly aware of the strength he has. Tony twitches as Steve runs his fingertips lightly over Tony’s nipples and words start to pour out of his mouth.

“Don’t know what brought this on, but don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” Tony’s saying, pushing his chest into Steve’s hands with wanton abandon. He responds to every movement of Steve’s hands and Steve repeats the movement, watching the bow of Tony’s back and marvelling at the fact that he is the one doing this.

“I’m not going to break, Steve,” Tony says, “Touch me like you mean it!”

They look each other in the eye, and part of Steve wants to look away, hide from the open want and challenge in Tony’s gaze, but he’s never backed down from a challenge in his life and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s moving, lifting and turning Tony until their positions are reversed and it’s Tony whose back is being pressed into the couch and Steve who is kneeling over him.

It feels unreal, yet so very real, like it’s all happening in a frenzied dream, but every sensation Steve can feel is more present than he can remember feeling in his life.

It feels like anything is possible, so he lowers his head, breathing hot air across Tony’s chest and watching the way his body reacts, shivering as his nipples harden into points. He leans back up again and slides his palms over the firm skin of Tony’s stomach, feeling the tense muscles quiver beneath it.

“Lower… a little lower would be good,” Tony gasps. Steve looks down to where Tony’s cock is throbbing and red, precome beading at the head. It thrusts up as Steve looks at it, twitching towards Steve’s mouth.

But Tony has been torturing him for months with this. He’s not going to let it be over so soon.

Instead he moves his hands to Tony’s hips, then down over lightly-haired thighs until Steve’s hands are resting on Tony’s knees, covering them completely, and pushing them slightly apart. Tony goes willingly, splaying himself out like a magazine picture.

“Not that low, darling,” Tony says. He is a gorgeous mess like this, spread out at Steve’s whim. It feels decadent to even experience this, like there’s too much potential pleasure here.

“Colour,” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. Tony smirks backwards, looking entirely too cocky for someone at Steve’s mercy. He pushes Tony’s legs a little further apart and moves forwards into the perfect V they make. “Colour, Tony.”

“Green as a jealous lover, darling,” Tony tells him. “Now if you could just get those gorgeous hands of yours a little higher.”

“You’re not in charge right now,” Steve says and Tony relaxes back into the couch, waving a hand idly.

“Then by all means, get on with it.”

Steve inches forwards again. He can feel the press of Tony’s thighs around him, lithe, but powerful, He leans down again, pulling himself together, remembering all the things Tony has done to bring him pleasure over the months, the things that Steve didn’t even realise were possible, and the things he never thought would be… appropriate.

He bites lightly at Tony’s nipple, pinching the other between his fingers, revelling in the sudden catch and stutter in Tony’s voice as he continues to babble. He massages his hands into the hollows of Tony’s hips, fingers just gripping into the flesh of Tony’s ass, keeping him still, but enjoying the feel of the flesh beneath his hands, and the flexing of muscle he can feel below him.

Tony’s cock is pushed up against his chest, he can feel the wet lines of precome it’s leaving across him, messing him up, marking him, and that makes him growl, and the vibrations of his chest make Tony keen and bow up into him again with a trail of expletives leaving his lips.

Steve lowers his head again, tasting the sweat that’s clinging to Tony’s stomach. It is such a strange thing to want, that taste, a dirty, wrong thing to want to lick the sweat off another man’s skin, but the salty taste of it and the musky scent of Tony leaves him reeling with arousal.

He’s aware of his own erection, bobbing, neglected between his legs, but there is no urgency there. He can hold out, for this.

Finally, he bites at the elegant line of Tony’s hip bone and pulls back.

Tony’s erection is in front of his face and Steve swallows, his certainty solidifying into icy shards inside him.

He… can’t.

This is too much.

He tries to tell himself it is no different from tasting the skin of Tony’s stomach, from biting at his chest. It is only skin and muscle, no different from the rest, but his body will not co-operate with his mind.

A hand finds its way to his head, fingertips pushing against his scalp to rub in gentle circles.

“It’s okay, darling. No need, I can finish myself off. We’ll go back to what we were-”

Tony’s words jerk him out of his indecision and Steve brings his hand up to wrap around Tony’s cock again. It is hot, so hot he’s not sure how Tony can bear it, and he pumps it tentatively at first, then harder, swiping a thumb over the head to slick the precome down to ease his way.

Tony’s hand falls from his head to his shoulder, fingers flexing and biting into the muscle there.

His body seems to have lost control of itself, given over to sensation and hedonism. Beneath Steve’s touch he writhes. 

Experimentally, Steve twists his hand and Tony’s legs come up to wrap around him, tugging them together, his head flies back, his eyes tight shut. He’s babbling nonsense encouragement and Steve feels pride building up in his chest.

He did this, he is responsible for this. His hands are not destroying anything, he is not fighting, but he is, for this brief time, making Tony’s life better, bringing him pleasure instead of pain. He’s also wiped that smug expression off Tony’s face, which is highly satisfying.

Steve never knew he had it in him to cause something like this. He had assumed, before Tony, that sex was always somewhat perfunctory, a necessity of life, a mess and a brief moment of pleasure and connection before moving on with your life. But this, this sensation is addictive and exhilarating. He already knows he wants to see Tony like this again, knows he will crumble to the sin of it. He is weak.

He lowers his other hand to his own cock, watching as Tony comes apart, chasing pleasure as he pushes his hips up into Steve’s firm grasp.

For all their hard work, Steve doesn’t last long, a few brief touches and the sight of Tony’s flushed, desperate body more than enough to bring him over. He speeds up his hand on Tony’s cock, tightening his grasp on the up-slide.

He is watching as Tony goes over the edge, watches the muscles in his body go taut, his eyes fly open to find Steve looking back at him. HIs mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Then Tony is coming, his release pulsing out to spill over Steve’s hand, splattering across Steve’s cheek, and he is sagging back, melting onto the seat and staring at Steve like he has suddenly found an answer to every question he has ever asked.

The pants of their breathing are loud in the silence that follows, and the air is suddenly cool against their sweat slicked skin.

“Darling,” Tony says, a hand coming up to pet at Steve’s cheek. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t know you had it in you.”

‘Neither did I’, thinks Steve, but he holds the thought in.

“Guess you can’t see right through me after all,” he says instead. Tony smiles, lazy and sated, pulling his hand away to suck his thumb between his lips in an obscene display. Made more obscene when Steve realises what it is he has wiped from Steve’s face. He feels himself flush.

“No shame now,” Tony says. “You are really very good at that.” He stretches, like a cat. “What was that for?” he asks after a second.

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. The words are twisted in his head a bit, all wound up with his conversation with Bucky and the realisations he had at the gala. He doesn’t want this to end. He can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. He can’t…

It’s a strange impulse that leads him to it, leaning down again, but this time focused on Tony’s face, not the rest of his body.

Steve’s not sure how this works. He feels raw and exposed, naked in more ways than one. This future world, present world, he supposes he should call it, has strange rules that he does not understand. He and Jan were ‘just having fun’, he and Tony have been ‘training’, but he is not made for that, he doesn’t think. He has old fashioned ideas, he knows. They mock him for it. But he wants to hold onto the feeling he just had, the feeling of being alive with Tony.

And the fact that they’re both men? He doesn’t know how that works either. They tell him it’s accepted now, but… 

He kisses Tony.

It’s clumsy and too stiff, he knows. Tony’s lips taste of wine and something that Steve realises must be come. The realisation makes him freeze for a second, but he refuses to back down.

It seems like the awkward press of lips lasts forever before Steve pulls back, shifting uncomfortably.

“Darling… I think you need to tell me what you want,” Tony says slowly. His hand comes down to rest on Steve’s, so Steve twists their fingers together.

“I…” he pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “I want to be happy.” He says. The statement surprises even him and he has to bite his lip at the softening of Tony’s face. “And I want to… would you allow me to… try to make you happy?”

Tony’s smile makes Steve’s heart jump just a little bit.

“I think I could manage that, darling.” Tony says, leaning up so that his breath is tickling at Steve’s lips. “Yes, I think we could manage that.”

Then Tony kisses him and Steve lets himself fall into it, hoping that Tony knows how to catch him.


End file.
